Perch
by JackieOh
Summary: Maureen was no one's sister and the closest thing she had to a best friend was her mom. She wouldn't have gotten involved in Beacon Hills' supernatural drama if it wasn't for her knack to notice the things most overlook. It also didn't hurt this mystery was what some could call a "special interest". After all, whenever Stiles Stilinski was involved Maureen couldn't help but pry.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: **Maureen was no one's sister and the closest thing she had to a best friend was her mom. She wouldn't have gotten involved in Beacon Hills' supernatural drama if it wasn't for her knack to notice the things most overlook. It also didn't hurt this mystery was what some could call a "special interest". After all, whenever Stiles Stilinski was involved Maureen couldn't help but pry.

**Rating: **T for Teen

**Pairing: **Stiles/OC (or Miles, as it'll come to be known.)

**Author's Note:** I just hope you all enjoy this first chapter, and please leave a review of what you thought!

**Chapter One**

"Staring at that clock won't make the time go any faster, Maureen."

At the sound of my mother's slow drawl the corners of my mouth twitched upward in a wan smile. "I know," I say while wiping my freshly washed hands on the apron at my waist. "I'm just anxious for the first day back."

She sets me with an affectionate grin before replying, "You'll be fine."

"Always am," I quip while stepping out of my waitressing gear.

"You better get going," Mom suggests as we exchange my apron for her car keys. "You have a meeting with Principal Thorne, don't you?"

"That's right," I nod. "Apparently working in the main office qualifies me to show the new kid around."

My mother's face appeared to light up at the news. "Maybe you'll make a new friend," she chirps hopefully with a toothy grin.

"Maybe," I echo with false conviction, despite knowing the chances of that happening were slim to none. I wasn't friendless per say, what with my numerous in-school acquaintances, but I was far from the Homecoming Queen Mom had been in her prime. I preferred observing over being the one observed. Besides, all student-secretaries have falsified reputations of being narks. Nobody wants to party with the kid who has a direct line to their principal.

"I'll be back by four," I promise after snapping my iced coffee from the café's checkout counter. "Love you."

"Love you too!" Mom called enthusiastically from her business' doorway as I approached the minivan we share. The car was by no means glamorous; she stalled every so often, there was a coffee stain on the back's center seat, and its bumper was covered in cheesy/obnoxiously colored stickers, but it got me safely from point A to point B without too much trouble. Besides, Doris had been around for as long as I could remember. The van had, oddly enough, become family. Not to mention she had a kickin' stereo system. With that thought in mind I slipped in my favorite Halestorm album and turned Doris' dial as far as it would go. Sophomore year, here I come…

When I pulled into Beacon Hills High's student parking lot ten minute after leaving my mother's café, my car received no stares. I was neither a social leper nor an unfamiliar face; meaning I could slip into the main office unnoticed. Sans a few polite greeting, of course. While I was usually thankful for my ability to fly under the radar, red hot resentment bubbled in my chest when I caught the longing gaze my crush of three years was sending the (in)famous Lydia Martin's way.

My heart dropped into my stomach as I overheard Stiles attempt to catch our school's resident queen bee's attention. "Hey Lydia," he greeted whilst obviously attempting to come off as suave. "You look-" the strawberry bypasses Stiles without a second (or first, for that matter) glance, "-like you're going to ignore me."

As I breezed past the crestfallen boy, with one-tenth of the gusto Lydia possessed, I sent my longtime acquaintance Scott McCall a friendly grin. Stiles' best friend returned the happy expression before opening his mouth to exchange greetings. However before we could engage in conversation Stiles interrupted with whined complaints. Not wanting to eavesdrop, I picked up my pace. As I scurried along I couldn't help but find it painfully ironic that Stiles ignored me in the same way Lydia did him. It was as if we were stuck in an unrequited love-triangle, except I was the only one who was aware of it.

"Ms. Black, your punctuality never ceases to amaze me."

I enter the main office while setting the African American educator a polite smile. "Principal Thorne," I greet with a small nod.

"How was your summer?" Thorne questions after motioning me to follow him into the corridor I'd just entered through.

"Fine," I answer briskly before politely countering, "and yours?" The school bell rang overhead; signaling the beginning of first block and effectively drowning out Principal Thorne's reply. He didn't bother repeating himself, nor did I ask him to. There was only so much small talk I could take before having the urge to throw myself from the nearest tall building, and I had the inkling I had already met this day's quota.

Principal Thorne and I emerged from the school to find an alarmingly pretty girl sitting on a nearby bench while muttering into the cell phone tucked between her ear and shoulder. For a moment the principal watched passively as she rummaged through her disorganized purse, but I cleared my throat in announcement when the tell-tale signs of irritation masked Principal Thorne's face. The unfamiliar girl jumped at my sudden noise before meeting my gaze with a sheepish grin. After rushing out a quick goodbye to her mother, the teen sent a mortified apology Principal Thorne's way.

"I'm _so_ sorry," she said while rising to her feet.

Thorne dismissed her apology with a wave of his hand. "It's quite alright," he replied, although his tone suggested otherwise. I gave the girl a reassuring smile when her doe-like eyes glanced nervously in my direction; silently telling her to pay our principals thorny (pun so intended) attitude no mind. He was a Grumpy-Gus on his good days. "Allison Argent, this is Maureen Black," our principal introduced politely after a brief, calming pause. "She'll be showing you around today; walking you to and from your classes, showing you were your locker it. Think of her as a mentor of sorts."

We exchanged greetings; her's shy and mine painfully awkward due to Principal Thorne's hawk-like gaze. I felt as if we were preschoolers being pushed together while our teacher demanded we, "play nice." I didn't do well under social pressure; especially when pressured by my principal/boss. He was almost worse than my mother in some aspects, and _definitely_ worse in others.

"I'll walk you to your English class," Principal Thorne volunteered as he led us toward the school once more. "I've had it arranged so you have nearly identical schedules this way Allison's transition will be easier on her. I hope you two don't mind."

Allison and I exchanged an uncertain, though not unkind, look before I reply, "Not at all."

"Wonderful," Thorne drawls as we come to a stop in front of room 4E. With a principal's false sense of entitlement, Thorne enters the English class without knocking. Our teacher, Mr. Alan, stops his droning in favor of addressing Principal Thorne.

"Ah," the willowy man acknowledged, "it seems our new student has arrived."

He paid me no mind as I slinked into the open chair in his classroom's far left corner; only having eyes for his superior and Allison. I didn't take it to heart due to the fact it was common knowledge I was essentially Thorne's pack mule. Besides, the teacher was most likely aware I would be Allison's _mentor_. My tardiness would undoubtedly be excused.

I tuned Principal Thorne's introduction out in favor of studying Stiles' profile. I wasn't surprised to find him in my class; we'd had an almost identical class schedule for the entirety of our middle and high school careers. In fact, that was how I explained my infatuation with the twitchy teen: it was just our proximity taking over. Well, that and his adorable moles. I had a_ serious_ obsession with those things that had crossed "creepy" a long time ago.

Allison infiltrated my line of vision; effectively snapping me from my longing gaze. I sent the new girl another smile as she took the seat at my right; clinging on to the only familiar face in the class. She studiously began unpacking her spiral notebook, but before she could brandish a pen Scott McCall turned around to face her; mechanical pencil outstretched.

"Here," he offered with a puppy-dog expression that made my heart melt.

Allison smiled bashfully while accepting the writing utensil. "Thanks," she said before Scott faced Mr. Alan once more. I couldn't help but swoon when I noticed the pair had matching looks of infatuation on their faces. The new girl and McCall… who would've thought?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary: **Maureen was no one's sister and the closest thing she had to a best friend was her mom. She wouldn't have gotten involved in Beacon Hills' supernatural drama if it wasn't for her knack to notice the things most overlook. It also didn't hurt this mystery was what some could call a "special interest". After all, whenever Stiles Stilinski was involved Maureen couldn't help but pry.

**Rating: **T for Teen

**Pairing: **Stiles/OC (or Miles, as it'll come to be known.)

**Author's Note:** I wish I had some sort of explanation for this chapter, but I really don't. Upside though, this is the start of a beautiful Miles friendship! Drop a review below and check out the social media accounts linked on my profile. All of them coincide with my fanfics!

**Chapter Two**

By the time I clocked out and left Principal Thorne's personal secretary Ms. Elliot to her lonesome it was nearing 3:30. I was pleasantly surprised to find Allison waiting out side of the main office for me while wearing her usual shy smile. During my last block (free period/work study) Allison had Economics, a class I took while she was in Advanced French, and I assumed the new girl would just go on her merry way. I knew she didn't need me to lead the way to her locker; we'd done that before lunch, which made my chest swell with hope. Had I _actually_ made a friend in Allison Argent? I couldn't think of doing anything extraordinary that would warrant her apparent loyalty but I also couldn't think of doing anything humiliating either. I could practically hear my mom squealing with joy already.

"Hey," I grin while pushing the perpetually sliding glasses up the bridge of my nose. "How was Econ.?"

Allison grimaces comically before replying, "Loud."

"Finstock is a little on the boisterous side," I chuckle as we approach our class' designated hall of lockers.

"You could say that again," she agrees while slowing her pace before finally coming to a stop before my locker. "Listen," Allison suddenly began as I struggled to remember the proper combination, "I just wanted to thank you… for taking me under your wing and all."

I smile widely, unable to control my self, before replying, "Don't worry about it, Allison. It's always nice to make new friends."

"Friends?" she echoes in an undeniably hopeful tone while nervously tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "We're friends?" It wasn't until that moment did I realize the new girl was just as anxious as I am over forming new bonds. I couldn't help but feel relief at the epiphany. Allison's nervousness was oddly… comforting. I didn't feel like such a socially inept freak at the very least.

"Of course we are," I replied easily; hoping I came across as confident and relaxed. I began to fiddle with my locker's dial and questioned, "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Yeah," Allison nodded with jerky movements. "Bye Maureen!" I waved to the new student as she made her way toward the end of our class' reserved corridor before exchanging my books with a relieved smile. As far as first days went, this one wasn't so bad.

I heard a graduated, metal cubby to my right open and at the sight of Scott McCall I smiled friendlily. Scott had always been a nice guy; offering help when someone needed it, a shoulder to cry on, and was always good for a laugh. We had similar backgrounds being as we both grew up in "broken" homes with single, hard working mothers. I often wondered why it had been his best friend I had become enamored with instead of him, but it always came down to one thing: his intelligence. I don't mean to sound rude, but Scott wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed. He had natural leading qualities and a positive outlook on life, both great qualities to have, but I was a sucker for smart-alecs. I wanted long in-depth conversations about politics and science fiction and the perpetually expanding universe! Not that I ever had those with Stiles, but _still_. If I had enough courage all I would have to do was mention The Wolfman and Stiles would be eating out of the palm of my hand; chirping up a storm in the way he's known to do. The option was there- I just couldn't (or more accurately: _wouldn't_) take it.

"Can somebody tell me how New Girl is here all of five minutes and she's already been inducted into Lydia's clique?" the familiar/sassy tone of Rebecca Harlowe questions suddenly as she approaches Scott, Stiles, and I with disgust. Becca and Lydia have a long standing rivalry that only seemed to strengthen when Becca came to the conclusion I was crushing on her childhood friend. I would have appreciated the sentiment if I didn't find her knowledge of my infatuation so mortifying.

"Uh, because she's hot?" Stiles replies rhetorically in response as I self-consciously sink into myself. "Beautiful people herd together."

Becca, having noticed my discomfort, bitingly responds, "Is that why Lydia isn't _herding_ with you?" I snort comically into my hand while avoiding Stiles' irritated gaze before closing my locker with a resolute _bang!_

"Maureen," Scott suddenly addressed while hopefully meeting my eyes, "you're friends with Allison, right?"

I glance to said girl over my shoulder and scowl slightly when I notice Lydia and Jackson talking animatedly with my new friend. "I showed her around today," I answer neutrally with a disconcerted shrug. "Why?"

"Did she mention anything about having a Family Night this Friday?"

"No," I answer while giving the Latino before me a strange look. I don't bother questioning his reason behind the perplexing inquiry because I'm not entirely sure I wanted to know his answer.

"Hey Mori," Becca interrupts; catching my attention with her sharp tone, "you going to lacrosse tryouts today?"

I worry my bottom lip as guilt weighs heavy on my shoulders. "No," I sigh with a shake of my head. "I have-"

"Work," she finishes. "Yeah, gotcha."

I frown before bribing, "Stop by the shop before six o'clock and I'll sneak you a free coffee!"

Becca smiles, though there are still traces of disappointment in her eyes. "You've got yourself a deal, Mori."

"See you," I promise before swinging my satchel's strap over my shoulder and making my way toward the nearest exit; Doris' keys already in hand. A few ways down I come to a halt and turn on my heel; summoning every ounce of courage in my body to call, "Good luck, guys!" to Scott and Stiles. They both grin in response, and I find myself blushing well into my evening shift at the sight of it. I had made Stiles happy… _eep_!

When the clock read 5:30 I ditched my barista attire and clocked out. Mom had gone home a half hour ago when Nina, the night manager, had come in. She and Blaine (who was due any second now) would close the café at eight before sweeping up and doing other maintenance chores; leaving Mom's pride and joy ready to be opened the next morning. The Knothole's staff were a close knit family, and so Mom trusted them to drive me home when it was time for me to leave. While I promised to hitch a ride with Jerry, the baker, I never got around to asking him. It wasn't because I was busy, but because I had other plans in mind- plans that prohibited adult supervision.

I wandered through Beacon Reserve's familiar trails in search of a particular isolated spot where most refused to go, what with the Hale house being only a quarter of a mile off. I knew smoking was risky due to the murder that happened last night (the homicide was all anyone was talking about today) but I couldn't help my self. It had been nearly a month since my last hit and my nerves felt frayed after today's long/slow pace. Besides, I reasoned, there were worse things I could do than recreational pot.

I overturned a flat rock to reveal my secret stash with accompanying bowl with a giddy smile. There was an undeniable thrill I got whenever I do something I ought not to do; almost a high in itself. To be fair though, I don't smoke to get high per say just… relax. I had always been a tightly wound girl and it seemed to get worse as the years went on. My former psychologist had even wanted to give me medication for my crippling anxiety but I turned the offer down. Why swallow pills when I could just light one up?

After setting up my bowl and brandishing my lighter I scrolled through my cell phone in search of Now, Now's album Threads; my go-to smoking soundtrack. As the soothing music flitted through my iPhone's speakers I set my cannabis ablaze before inhaling deep and holding it long. When I finally exhaled thick smoke billowed from my mouth as my head lolled back in satisfaction. The relaxing effect was almost instantaneous, even if I still found the smell of weed repulsing.

"Maureen?"

I jumped a few centimeters off of the ground and looked to Stiles with wide, glassy eyes. My deer-caught-in-headlights look was nowhere near as cute as Allison's; especially since mine was laced with genuine fear. _Shit!_

"Shit," I cursed as my crush grew nearer; his surprised expression becoming more and more apparent with each step forward. "Oh man, _please_ don't tell your dad!" I could feel paranoia setting in and, for the first time since meeting him, begrudged Stiles' presence. What the hell was he doing out here, anyway? This was my spot!

"Oh, whoa-whoa no way!" Stiles shouts defensively with a flourish of his hands. "Nope, there will be no tattling of any kind. I promise."

My shoulders sag in relief and without missing a beat I pull my bowl back up to my lips while setting light to my favorite herb once more. As my deep inhale progressed I felt more and more comfortable under Stiles' watchful gaze. When I released the smoke filling my lungs Stiles took a seat opposite of me. Feeling unusually at ease I offered my bowl and lighter to the cute teen before me; guessing that's the reason he'd stuck around. If I was in a sober mindset I probably would have worried mixing my pot and his Adderal would have negative affects.

"Thanks," Stiles nodded while fumbling for my glass tool and plastic lighter. I watched appreciatively as he sucks in a deep breath and giggled when he began to choke.

"Careful," I laugh as his eyes comically water.

"How did you make that look so easy?" Stiles spluttered through wheezes whilst handing me back my drug of choice.

I smirk deviously while pushing my glasses back up the bridge of my nose. "Practice," I reply in a sage-like tone that makes him grin.

"I didn't peg you for a pot smoker," Stiles confesses when I take my final, shallow hit.

I exhale slowly before replying, "Most people don't," with a small shrug of my shoulders. As I began to pack my kit away I couldn't help but question the twitchy boy only two feet off. "What are you doing out here?" I ask.

"You're very coherent for someone who's high," Stiles deflects.

"I'm not high," I immediately deny while putting my stash in its rightful place. After gently patting the top of my marked rock I turned to Stiles with rare boldness. "You didn't answer my question," I say.

"We were looking for the other half of that body," he finally responds after a moment of silent deliverance.

"We?" I question with a furrow of my brow.

"Me and Scott," Stiles elaborates with an uncomfortable lick of his lips.

"Scott's here?" I question in alarm while twisting my neck in all different directions in search of said boy. Maybe I _am _high.

"No," the sheriff's son chuckles with a shake of his head. "He had to go to work."

"Work," I echo after giving a sympathetic hum. "Man, I hate work. D'you have a job? No, you don't." I shake my head to clear my cloud of confusion with a delirious giggle. "Scott works at the animal clinic, doesn't he? I know because he gave my cat Soupy a shot once. Or tried to. She clawed his arm- it wasn't pretty." I suddenly grimace at the realization I'm babbling. "I'm sorry," I apologize in embarrassment while meeting Stiles like, caramel colored eyes. "I talk a lot when I'm high."

"I thought you weren't high?" he counters with an amused grin.

"I'm not," I giggle. "I'm… I don't know. I'm hungry."

Stiles shakes his head with playful exasperation while getting to his feet. "C'mon," he prompts while extending a hand down to me, "I'll drive you home."

"Can we stop at Jack in The Box first?" I plea as he pulls me up into a standing position. "Please?"

After withstanding a moment of the infamous pout I'd inherited from my mother, Stiles caves. "Sure," he says as his right shoulder ticks. "Of course. I'm dying for some curly fries, anyway."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary: **Maureen was no one's sister and the closest thing she had to a best friend was her mom. She wouldn't have gotten involved in Beacon Hills' supernatural drama if it wasn't for her knack to notice the things most overlook. It also didn't hurt this mystery was what some could call a "special interest". After all, whenever Stiles Stilinski was involved Maureen couldn't help but pry.

**Rating: **T for Teen

**Pairing: **Stiles/OC (or Miles, as it'll come to be known.)

**Author's Note:** Please leave a review once you're finishing reading! They mean the world to me and inspire me to continue writing. I hope you've enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. As always check out my social media accounts which are linked on my profile and go along with my stories. Thanks a million! xoxo

**Chapter Three**

When I scurried into English the next day seconds before the bell rang with my eyes downcast and cheeks flushed, I told my self to act normal. Or, more importantly, act like yesterday never happened. The truth was too hard to face therefore I was in denial about the whole thing. I'd stick to my reliable tactic of ignoring-the-problem-until-it-goes-away until Stiles eventually grew old and went senile. At least that way he wouldn't remember me freaking out the entire drive to Jack In the Box, stuffing my face with greasy food in between horrendous attempts at rapping Macklemore/Ryan Lewis songs, and then belching the ABCs once I polished off my Vanilla Coke. (Though to be fair _he_ was the one who started our little belching competition.)

"Be cool," I mumbled sternly to my self while taking my seat beside Allison.

"What?" the new student questioned as her gaze snapped up to meet mine. My cheeks flamed when her inquiry caused Scott and Stiles to look at me in confusion as I ducked behind my hair.

"Nothing," I reply after taking a moment to clear my throat and gather my wits. When Mr. Alan began to drone about the _Scarlet Letter_ I silently cursed myself for being so obvious. It was bad enough Stiles' first real impression of me was a pothead floozy! Now he had to know I was embarrassed by it, too? No way.

I inhaled a deep and calming breath before tilting my chin up high. Be cool, I told myself. Deciding to take my own advice I casually propped my jaw onto my hand; trying desperately to appear relaxed. Talk about _irony_! I just hope it worked.

When the school day's second bell rang, signaling the end of English class, I packed my books with vigor. When I got to my feet my speedy exit was halted when Allison motioned for me to wait for her. My brow furrowed in confusion when she addressed Scott with a bashful, "Hey."

McCall faced Allison with a love-struck expression that made my lips involuntarily curl upward. "Hi."

"I just wanted to thank you again for last night," Allison confessed while reaching into her purse and groping around searchingly. "I was a complete wreck."

"I-it's fine," Scott stuttered in response as his cheeks turned a half-shade darker.

My mouth dropped in surprise when Allison suddenly produced a distinctly male sweater from her bag before offering it to the infatuated teen before her. "I believe this is yours," she grinned as they exchanged Scott's folded article of clothing. "Thanks for letting me borrow it."

"I'm glad I could help," Scott replied; his voice gentle as they shared a secret, hormone-filled gaze that simultaneously made me want to vomit and _squee!_ in joy.

"Yeah," I interrupt shortly in a tone pitched with excitement. "You're a real stand-up guy, Scott. Now if you'll excuse us," I wound my arm through Allison's before steering us toward Mr. Alan's desk and, more importantly, the doorway. "We've got some things to discuss. Bye!"

I forced Allison into spilling the beans during Global 2 as Mr. Z napped happily on his desk. By the end of second block my cheeks ached from smiling so much. While hitting a stray dog with her car was tragic, both the news of its survival and Scott's chivalry had me bouncing in delight. Through our giggles and shared gossip I couldn't help but relish in this new and unfamiliar form of kinship. However despite our bonding I couldn't bring my self to tell Allison about my and Stiles' encounter the evening before.

Speaking of the sheriff's son, I'd managed to avoid Stiles for half of our school day before lunch came. Becca and I were moaning about last night's embarrassing display on the lunch line (she agreed it was just as horrific as I thought) when Allison suddenly appeared and grabbed onto my forearm with a vice grip. I jumped in surprise; accidentally spilling some of my lunch tray's contents on the floor and looked to the new girl with wide eyes. I opened my mouth to question her strange behavior, but she interrupted me before I had the chance.

"Save me from Lydia," Allison begged desperately as Becca chuckled in amusement. I glanced over the Argent's shoulder to find said queen bee marching our way. A determined scowl marred Lydia's otherwise pretty face, and as she grew nearer Becca ditched me in favor of joining Scott and Stiles at their nearby table.

"Allison," Lydia's prim voice greeted sharply. "Come sit with me." There was demand in her tone; signifying that Beacon Hills High's resident new girl had no say in the matter.

Allison's grip on my arm tightened as she negotiated, "Only if Maureen can come, too. I mean-" she quickly backtracked upon noticing Lydia's hardening stare, "I promised I'd eat lunch with her today."

I fidgeted uncomfortably under Lydia's inquisitive gaze. Hey hazel eyes scanned me from head to toe, and then back up again. The judgment was obvious in her eyes but I was oddly proud to find approval there as well. One thing was for sure; I'm glad I carried an emergency scarf around at all times. I don't think Lydia would be quite as kind if she knew beneath the black, distressed cloth was a coffee stain from this morning marring my otherwise pristine white sweater.

"You're cute," she complimented; though her voice sounded much more clinical than flattering. "I mean, your eyebrows are overgrown and those _glasses!_ But-" Lydia smacked her lips together before continuing, "there's definite potential."

I give a bewildered blink in surprise and try to ignore Becca's nearby snickers to the best of my ability. "Er…" I fumble uncomfortably, "thank you?"

"Maureen showed me around yesterday," Allison gushes while leading me toward the table designated for lacrosse stars and their girlfriends. "She's really great." I throw a pleading look over my shoulder to Becca, but she merely waves enthusiastically as a maniac cackle fell from her lips. Scott wore a look of amusement as Stiles sighed longingly after the strawberry blonde at Allison's right. I grimaced at the sight before twisting my neck back so I faced forward once more.

"Really?" Lydia questioned skeptically as her eyes flickered my way once more.

Allison nodded enthusiastically before replying, "She's really nice." I would have been flattered if the new girl wasn't doing this for entirely selfish reasons. She wanted me to join Lydia's inner circle because she didn't want to be the only sane, down-to-earth one surrounded by bratty populars. As we took a seat at the circular table, me being sandwiched between Allison and Greenberg, I suddenly regretted not telling Allison about my feelings for Stiles. If I had she wouldn't have forced me into a social situation where I would have to interact with my (and I'm using this term loosely) rival.

"Well, I work in the main office," I cut in while nervously pushing up my sliding frames, "so Principal Thorne thought since I know the ins and outs of this school I was the best fit for _Welcoming Committee_."

"The ins and outs, huh?" Lydia prompts after snapping off a piece the baby carrot in hand.

Her tone and probing eyes revealed she was plotting the many ways to use me to her advantage. I knew she wouldn't ask for test scores (Lydia outsmarted all of the teachers at this school, except Mr. Harris who shared her impressive IQ) but as Thorne's most trusted secretary there were many other things at my disposal. The question was; what would Lydia Martin, the girl who has everything, want?

"Does that include gossip?" the strawberry blonde questioned suddenly with a thoughtful frown. I nearly snorted at her inquiry, but my relief outshined my _dis_belief. I should have known.

"I'm not much for gossip," I reply after a moment of deep thought; lying through my freshly straightened teeth. I was what my mother called 'nosy' or, at my best times, a 'busy bee'. I preferred to think of it as my thirst for knowledge poking through from the academic world into the real one. After all, as an aspiring novelist I _have_ to study human nature. How else am I going to properly portray strange quirks, if not people watch?

When Lydia's boyfriend Jackson Whittemore joins us at the table, planting a kiss on his girlfriend's cheek, I turned my eyes downcast in favor of picking at my lunch. Maybe it was jealously or unfamiliarity but I couldn't stand being around two people who love each other in the way that couples ought to. PDA made me uncomfortable and acutely aware of my current love life- or lack thereof. I was relieved to find instead of putting and end to all conversation it sparked new topics.

"So Maureen," Lydia began in a superior tone I couldn't help but admire, "will you be going to my party tonight?"

I fidgeted under Allison's expectant and hopeful stare. "Er," I stutter, "I didn't know I was invited."

Lydia gave a high-pitch laugh; as if my response was preposterous. "Everyone's invited," she said. "It's the biggest part of the year- after my birthday, of course."

I refrained from pointing out I'd never been to one of her birthday parties either. Instead I replied, "I guess I can stop by-"

"Perfect!" Lydia chirped happily after she and Allison shared a pleased grin. "You and Allison will come over to my house after tryouts and-"

"I have work after school," I interrupt gently; not wanting to let the (obviously lonely) girl down. It would have been _so much_ easier if Lydia was the type of person I could hate; if it had been my pigtails she pulled in first grade instead of Becca's. Lydia was insanely popular, high school royalty even, but she was far too intimidating to have real friends. While I was green with envy over Stiles' affections, I wasn't blinded. I could understand Lydia's loneliness in a way most couldn't. She'd clung onto Allison the same way I had. We both wanted the kind of friendship you see in movies; a platonic unconditional love for someone. Yes, I still found Lydia overbearing, but she wasn't vicious. She was even kind of nice when she wanted to be.

"You work with your mom, don't you?" Allison questions as Lydia reins in her fallen expression.

I give an enthusiastic nod. "Yeah," I chirp. "She owns the café on Mainstreet-"

"The Knothole?" Lydia elaborates in a pleasant tone. "I get my coffee there every morning."

"I know," I respond dryly as the familiar sensation of irritation washes over me. "I'm usually the one who serves you." I couldn't help but feel suddenly awful at the realization unless pointed out, Lydia Martin completely overlooked me. Was I _truly_ that invisible?

Lydia didn't have a response, and so she changed the subject. "Well at least send me pictures of outfit choices," she requested in a no-nonsense tone.

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing now?" I ask defensively while looking down to make sure this morning's stain didn't peak through.

"It's a party, Maureen," Lydia drawled with a roll of her pretty painted eyes; as if the response was answer enough.

"I get off at six," I sigh complacently after taking a sip of my Snapple.

"Perfect," Lydia chirped while extending her manicured hand. "Give me your phone, we'll exchange numbers." I felt oddly warm when doing as instructed; almost as if I'd finally made honest-to-god friends. I knew one thing; Mom was going to be _thrilled_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary: **Maureen was no one's sister and the closest thing she had to a best friend was her mom. She wouldn't have gotten involved in Beacon Hills' supernatural drama if it wasn't for her knack to notice the things most overlook. It also didn't hurt this mystery was what some could call a "special interest". After all, whenever Stiles Stilinski was involved Maureen couldn't help but pry.

**Rating: **T for Teen

**Pairing: **Stiles/OC (or Miles, as it'll come to be known.)

**Author's Note:** High-five for dual updates! This is probably my favorite chapter thus far. Hope you enjoy, and leave a review once you're finished reading please!

**Chapter Four**

Lydia vetoed six different outfits before I decided her opinion was no longer valued. Mom had been beside herself when I told her I'd be attending my first high school house party, and insisted she help me do my hair and make up. I still smelt of cinnamon buns and caramel after my long shift at the café and shower, but we both agreed people would most likely think it was musk. Mom had even tried talking me into switching my glasses for contact lenses but I downright refused. One house party was not worth irritating my sensitive eyes. Besides, I adored the frames my Nona had given to me when I was big enough to fit them. They'd been hers while she was in college up until treating her self as a first year teaching anniversary. Nona started off her second semester as a college professor with perfect vision, but that had been long before I was born. I couldn't even tell you how long my Nona has been teacher Folklore at Hawkins U it's been so long. Nevertheless, I'd romanticized my glasses so much they'd developed an irrational amount of sentimental value- even if they_ did _make my large eyebrows appear much more prominent.

I'd been pleasantly surprised when Allison invited me to sleep over her house after Lydia's party, and while I was reluctant to accept Mom eventually coerced me into saying yes. The new girl promised me Scott had no problem driving the both of us home, which made my brow sky rocket in surprise. I texted her eagerly as Mom finished up my hair; questioning her about the date she'd conveniently "forgot to tell me" about. I could practically feel Allison's excitement via messaging as we discussed how undeniably cute Scott is. She also wasted no time boasting about how well he did in tryouts today. Her texts practically sang with pride when she mentioned he made first line. I simply laughed and pointed out how much she was beginning to sound like Lydia in one of her Jackson tirades.

When Becca, my "date" for the night, pulled into my driveway and gave a short honk my hands shook with excitement and apprehension. Was I ready for this? In two days I'd gone from loner girl to friends with _Lydia Martin_! Not to mention making a fool out of myself in front of Stiles yesterday. What on earth was happening to me and, more importantly, was the change good? Maybe I should just cancel and curl up with _Wolf Moon _by R.R. Lewis. It had been a while since I looked over one of Nona's mythology books, anyway.

Becca's car howled impatiently once more; showing her irritation at my slow pace. Not wanting to anger the girl I quickly fled from my house; throwing a hasty, "Goodbye!" at my mother on the way out. It seemed I would be going tonight; hesitant or not.

"Sorry," I immediately apologize upon entering Becca's Audi. "I couldn't find my shoes." The lie was thin, but I said it with such conviction Becca had no choice but to believe me.

"It's fine," she shrugged. "It's better to be fashionably late, anyways." Becca paused momentarily to focus on backing up before continuing, "I'm surprised you're even going."

"It's partially your fault," I reply while fidgeting my glasses for the umpteenth time today. "You really threw me to the wolves, today."

"I didn't expect you to bond with Little-Miss. Steal Your Man," Becca shoots back in her usual snarky way.

"Stiles isn't even my friend, let alone my man," I correct with an exasperated roll of my eyes. "Besides, Lydia isn't as bad as you've made her out to be."

Becca scowls out into the open road before us as says, "She pulled my hair."

"So I've heard," I dryly respond; refraining from pointing out it had happened nearly eleven years ago. "I'm mostly going for Allison, anyway." We spent the remainder of our drive chattering about the new girl and how irrationally sweet she was. Becca and I agreed her nice attitude was sincere, and we both admitted to harboring jealousy over the way everyone was instantly taken by her. Allison was just one of those people others gravitate towards. I would have disliked her if she wasn't so genuine, but I couldn't help but feel amused when Becca didn't like her out of principal.

After scrounging up a parking space two blocks away Becca and I entered Lydia's lavish backyard to find dance music blasting, teenagers giving into their mess of hormones, and pretty twinkling fairy lights hanging over the vacant built-in pool separating one dance floor from the other. I scanned the packed, loud space with wide eyes and my mouth agape. I'd just arrived and I already felt uncomfortable.

"I need a drink," I shouted to Becca over the Bose system's bass line.

"Get me one too?" she requested in a voice just as loud. I nodded in concession before cautiously approaching one of the only vacant kegs sprinkled about the Martin's backyard. As I weaved in and out of various teenagers' way, I felt the sudden urge to vomit. My hands shook with anxiety as my heart rate quickened. This was a bad idea, I summarized after shaking off Greenberg's groping hands. A very, _very_ bad idea.

I snatched a cliché red solo cup off of the small table situated beside the isolated keg before looking down to the metal cylinder with a look of confusion. I'd never used a keg tap before despite the fact I _had_ drunk before. To add insult to injury my hands were shaking so badly from adrenaline and social anxiety grasping the keg's tap was proving to be a challenge in itself. I muttered a few choice curses under my breath while fidgeting with insecurity, feeling as if the entire part had stopped to look at my floundering, before a pale hand took away my still-empty cup before easily filling it with beer themselves.

My shoulders sagged in relief, and I turned to my savior with a thankful smile. "Thanks," I began gratefully before blinking owlishly in surprise. "S-stiles," I fumble in embarrassment as said boy gives me a gentle grin. What was my mantra again? Oh, right. _Be cool_. "Hey." Oh, real suave greeting Fabio.

"You looked like you could use a little help," Stiles observes while offering the drink he'd just poured. I felt childish taking it from him and very insecure, but while his words weren't necessarily flattering the gesture warmed my cheeks.

"I prefer cans to kegs," I babble with a wavering smile. "They're much easier to use."

Stiles chuckles as I take a sip of my beer. "Yeah," he agrees with a bob of his head, "but in the end the beer still tastes like-"

"Office girl!" a very drunken Greenberg suddenly interrupts while throwing his arm around my tensed shoulders. "I thought we were dancing!"

I step out of his grip and instinctually closer to Stiles. "If you think groping me constitutes as dancing," I begin haughtily while looking down on the drunken teen, "then I'd be happy to pay for professional lessons." I can't help but swell with pride when Stiles snickers into his hand. Somehow I manage to keep a gleeful smile off of my face, but my posture straightened regardless.

Greenberg slurred out a derogatory name before slinking off toward Heather James; a girl known for taking charge of her own sexuality. I was highly amused when my headstrong peer promptly sent Greenberg on his way. The redhead absolutely oozed confidence, and I couldn't help but admire her for it.

It seemed as if I hadn't been the only one distracted, because when I turned back to Stiles his eyes were already miles away. Curious as to what caused his expression to turn so somber I followed the boys' light eyes across the pool to the side of Lydia's house, where said girl and her boyfriend were… well, it looked like they were performing a cannibalistic ritual but I knew that wasn't the case. Whatever vibrato I had gained was quickly lost, and I heaved out a sad, muted sigh.

"Thanks for the drink," I proclaimed suddenly after taking a large gulp of said beverage. Without waiting for a response I turned my heel and made to walk away; only for Stiles' hand to shoot out and encircle my left wrist.

"Wait," he demanded as I faced him once more. "I- uh," I watched in confusion as Stiles fumbled over his words before clearing his throat and starting over. "Are we okay?"

My brow immediately furrowed at the sudden question. "Why wouldn't we be?" I counter as his hand remembers itself and drops my wrist.

"It's just that you- that you've been avoiding me all day," he backtracks with a nervous tick of his lips. My heart soars at his observation, but I can't admit to ignoring him without seeming rude.

"We don't usually talk," I say with an acted frown.

"I know," Stiles agrees. "Not usually but I just that that after yesterday we-"

I let out a small squeak when someone unwarrantedly shoved me forward and into Stiles' chest. The momentum resulted in what was left of my beer being spilt all over his shoes, and I looked up to Stiles with wide, mortified eyes. "I'm so sorry!" I blurt as my hands begin to shake once more.

"Don't worry about it," Stiles dismisses in a distracted tone while looking after the vaguely familiar back of my assaulter. "Listen I- I've got to-" he ran off without finishing the thought, and for a moment I stared after him in outrage. It wasn't until Allison rushed by moments later did I realize Stiles hadn't ditched me; rather had run off in concern after his best friend. I couldn't help but worry over how easily Stiles managed to bounce from my good books to my bad, and the back again so quickly. Surely that couldn't be normal.

I quickly snapped myself from these wayward thoughts and tossed my empty cup into the nearest trash bag before following after a tearful Allison. Dread filled my stomach when I entered the Martin's front yard to find my new friend shouting after a speeding car. "Scott!" Allison called pleadingly. "Scott!"

I approached the tearful girl with slow, cautious movements. "Allison?" I questioned gently whilst laying my open hand on said girl's back.

She jumped at my sudden arrival before turning to me with pink and glassy eyes. "I don't know what happened," Allison blubbered in misery. "One second we were dancing and the next he just- just took off!"

I bite the inside of my cheek before excusing feebly, "It must be because of the full moon." I point overhead at the orb in our night sky before continuing, "It makes people act crazy. That's where the word _lunatic_ comes from, y'know."

Effectively distracted, Allison sniffles before questioning, "Where did you learn that?"

"My Nona," I answer delicately with a smile. "We can talk about it on the walk home, alright?"

When Allison opened her mouth to accept, a distinctly male voice interrupted her. "Allison, right?" I turned to inspect the new arrival to find a young man in approximately his early twenties approaching us with a charming grin. "I'm Derek, a friend of Scott's," he continues. "He asked me to give you a lift home."

I swallow thickly and tense in alarm. This was Derek Hale; one of two survivors of the Hale house fire six years ago! What on earth was he doing in town? More importantly, how did he befriend Scott of all people?

"Thank you," I cut in politely with a meek grin, "but we have no problem walking."

Derek's eyes flashed to mine, and I detected annoyance underneath his gaze. "I'm sorry," he apologized before questioning, "who are you?"

I square my shoulders in indignation and reply, "Maureen."

"Maureen," he repeats before eyeing Allison once more. "What do you say about that ride?"

"You said you're a friend of Scott's?" the new girl elaborates slowly with an unsure frown. At Derek's nod Allison glanced questioningly to me out of the corner of her eye. "If it's alright with Maureen-"

"Perfect," Derek smiled suddenly before nodding toward the street's direction. "Let's get going." Despite my reluctance to follow, I did anyway. After all; tonight seemed to be the night for bad decisions. What was the worst he could do? I had pepper spray on hand at all times; tucked into the pocket of my jacket. I kept my hand on it the entire time, and from the knowing look in Derek's eyes I concluded he knew what I was doing. Luckily enough I never had to make good on my silent threat. Despite the tense air, the car ride to Allison's home (which turned out to be much more lavish than expected) had been perfectly safe. After thanking Scott's supposed friend Allison and I scurried up to her bedroom; taking turns scrubbing off out make up and changing into pajamas for the night.

I had the pleasure to meet Mr. and Mrs. Argent; both of which were polite if not a little on the nosy side. I thought Allison's left eye would never stop twitching in annoyance during her father's interrogation, but I found their dynamic very interesting. It was apparent Mrs. Argent was the stern parent; the one who most likely disciplined Allison when need be. Mr. Argent was just as protective, be I couldn't help but find him much more likeable and sociable.

In fact, he and I were in the middle of conversing about Allison's 'adjustment' when Mrs. Argent called to us from the downstairs. "Girls," she shouted a few moments after her front doorbell rang, "it's for you!"

My new friend and I shared a mutual look of confusion before childishly racing each other down her home's grand staircase; giggling and ignoring Mrs. Argent's look of irritation all of the way. Having outran Allison and reaching the front door first, I opened it widely with a flourish. My brow skyrocketed in shock and confusion when Stiles, still dressed in his dress clothes from earlier's party, took in my and Allison's appearance in palpable relief.

"Thank God," Stiles murmured while pulling me into a sudden embrace that made my head spin. He released me before, curiously enough, doing the same to Allison. "You're okay."

The blush that stained my cheeks long after Stiles left prevented my secret crush from staying secret any longer. Allison forced me into gushing over Stiles until well into the morning, but I couldn't say I minded.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary: **Maureen was no one's sister and the closest thing she had to a best friend was her mom. She wouldn't have gotten involved in Beacon Hills' supernatural drama if it wasn't for her knack to notice the things most overlook. It also didn't hurt this mystery was what some could call a "special interest". After all, whenever Stiles Stilinski was involved Maureen couldn't help but pry.

**Rating: **T for Teen

**Pairing: **Stiles/OC (or Miles, as it'll come to be known.)

**Author's Note:** This chapter was entirely AU, and much shorter than usual, but I needed to spark Maureen's suspicions and this seemed to be the best way! I hope you enjoy, please review the chapter, and check out my corresponding social media accounts- all of which are linked on my profile. Thanks so much!

**Chapter Five**

The next morning, after Allison had been kind enough to drive me home, I decided to clean up the house as a "thank you" to my mother for letting me go to Lydia's last night. She was in Seattle for the day for a meeting with Starbucks (the cooperation have been trying to buy our café out for months now) and wouldn't be back until well into tomorrow; meaning for almost the entire weekend I would have the house to my self. I decided to take advantage of the newfound freedom by not showering, ordering out for every meal, and blasting music that ranged from early 2000s pop to current underground alternative. It wasn't a surprise when my neighbor Mr. Hendrickson called out to me when taking out the garbage, but his topic of conversation was. From the scowl on his aging face I assumed he wanted to complain about my excessive noise, not interrogate me about Scott McCall of all people.

"Ruby!" Mr. Hendrickson called; getting my name wrong for the umpteenth time. I grimaced before reigning in my dislike and turning to the man with a polite smile.

"Mr. Hendrickson," I nod in acknowledgement before waiting for practiced patience.

"I have something to ask you," he continues in a posh tone that sets my teeth on edge. "There was a boy, around your age I would say, who broke into my yard yesterday morning and took a swim in my new, built in pool." He bragged haughtily about the supposedly 'new' pool that had been there as far as I could remember, and I pursed my lips together in annoyance. "I was hoping you could tell me his names being as I'll want to press charges."

"I would need a bit more description, Mr. Hendrickson," I simper in response; knowing full well I wouldn't give up the trespasser's name even if I _did_ know who he was.

"He was clearly Latino," Hendrickson drawled with a flourish of his hand. "Average build, too long of hair, a lopsided jaw." It was only the last hint that clued me in to who Mr. Hendrickson's trespasser was and, despite Scott's episode last night, the recognition only seemed to strengthen my protectiveness.

I slipped into my emotionless though vaguely polite mask of indifference before giving a contemplative hum. "I'm sorry Mr. Hendrickson," I apologize falsely, "but that doesn't ring any bells, but I promise to keep an eye out for the trespasser."

Though irritated by my lie, Mr. Hendrickson forced a thankful smile on his usually sour mug. "Thank you, Ruby," he said. "I would truly appreciate it. Oh, and could you turn your music down? You're disturbing Penelope." My eyes instinctually flickered to the Bichon Frisé looking through his curtains, and I shot the fluffy dog a small smile; remembering that I read somewhere dogs could interoperate facial expressions.

"I'm sorry," I apologized primly. "I'll be sure to turn it down." The short walk back toward my front door was spent wondering what on earth Scott McCall was doing breaking into my neighbor's pool the morning of our second day of school. My curiosity was undeniably piqued.

Come Monday morning, Hendrickson's questioning was still in the forefront of my mind. While at first I wasn't so sure why I was meandering about my locker; straightening out quasi-messiness and the rearranging notes that I've already managed to misplace my intentions became apparent when Scott (along with Stiles of course) appeared at my right. I turned to the boy eagerly despite myself and questioned, "Break into any pools lately?" The looks I received from both teens were much more horrified than I expected. Scott glanced around the hall nervously as Stiles licked his lips out of an anxious habit.

"What?" Scott asked in a tone full of forced nonchalance. "Why would you say something like that?" he continued, although not unkindly.

I close my locker door to face Beacon Hills' newest lacrosse star fully. "My neighbor cornered me Saturday," I inform, "asking if I knew the name of a student who looked like you."

"And what did you tell him?" Stiles interrupts as his nimble fingers move in waves.

I frown irritably and reply, "I didn't give him up, if that's what you're asking. I may work in the front office but I'm not a nark." The best friends opened their mouths in unison; each having apologetic expressions marring their faces. Obviously they felt guilty for having such little faith. But before either teen could apologize Lydia Martin hooked her arm through mine and continued her signature fast-paced strides; making me stumble after her in confusion.

"What are you doing talking to Scott?" the strawberry blonde demanded without even sparring me a side glance. I went to reply but Lydia easily talked over my words. "Rule number one of best friendship; never associate with ex-boyfriends."

I nearly pointed out at Allison and Scott had never dated, not technically, nor were they separated but I quickly decided challenging Lydia wouldn't be a good idea. Instead I replied, "Sorry. I'm… _new_ to the whole friendship-thing."

At my confession Lydia's features visibly softened, and I noticed in relief that her strides gradually slowed. Her hazel eyes flickered to mine as she graced me with a small, genuine smile. Her nearest elbow nudged me gently as she responds, "Me too." I could only watch in awe as our tender moment faded quickly before she resumed her runway-worthy walk; proclaiming I was 'in desperate need of a makeover.' On our trek to English I couldn't help but find being friends with Lydia Martin was strange. I _also_ couldn't help but like it.

The day passed slowly, and salt was added to my festering wounds when Principal Thorne kept me forty-five minutes after the final bell rang; meaning not only did I miss my bus home (Doris was with Mom for the day because of her scheduled dentist appointment) but I was also running late for my shift. You would think the head of a high-ranking high school would know how to use a copying machine!

After hazardously throwing on my coat on and packing my school books away I sprinted out of the school; texting Nina to apologize for my lateness. It didn't matter that my mom owned the shop; I was The Knothole's employee just the same. Mom wouldn't dock my pay or anything, but there was a good possibility she'd try forcing me to quit my work study for the umpteenth time. _That_ was a lecture I didn't want to sit through again!

My short breathes billowed out in clouds with each frantic step, and after ten minutes of jogging I groaned at the realization I had another ten minutes of walking until reaching Main Street let along The Knothole. Nina's reply had been clipped and I could read her irritation through the lines. There wasn't a doubt in my mind Mom would give me an earful come dinner time, and my hands shook with anxiety at the prospect of it. I was seriously contemplating just calling out altogether so as to not deal with my snippy manager, but the rational side of my brain outright refused. I wouldn't run. Not today.

I nearly jumped right out of my skin when the sound of my name being called was suddenly heard. "Maureen!" the voice shouted as a familiar, baby-blue Jeep pulled up beside me.

I slowed my pace slightly before turning to the sheriff's son with an apologetic smile. "Sorry Stiles," I respond breathlessly, "can't talk! I've got to-"

"Do you need a ride?" he suddenly blurts in interruption after taking note of my rushed demeanor. It me takes two (deeply contemplative) seconds to accept, and before I know it I'm buckling my self into the Jeep's passenger side whilst sighing in relief.

"You're a life saver," I gush; resulting in a proud smile stretching across the entirety of his face.

"Where to?" Stiles questions eagerly in response.

"The Knothole," I answer while lifting my frizzing hair to style it in a sloppy bun at the nape of my neck.

Stiles grimaces sympathetically before asking, "Late for work?"

"That's an understatement," I groan miserably. "My manager is gonna kill me. Like, horror-movie slaughter. You and Scott will be looking for _my_ body next."

He chuckles, though there's a nervous undertone beneath any humor. "I'll keep my eyes peeled," Stiles then promises after sparring me an anxious glance. I watched the fidgety teen for a silent moment before he said, "We- Scott and me-we're really sorry about this morning. I didn't mean that you're like, a tattletale or whatever."

I blinked owlishly in surprise before dismissing his fumbled apology. "Oh," I say in surprise. "Er, don't-don't worry about it. I understand. I shouldn't have gotten so upset with you guys. It's just, well, with me working in the office everyone assumes-"

"I get it," Stiles interrupts as we finally hit Main Street. At my disbelieving glance he clarified, "You're talking to the sheriff's kid."

I didn't know how to respond, but luckily enough I didn't have to. We pulled into The Knothole's relatively busy parking lot, and I quickly gathered my things before pushing my car door open. "I owe you one," I say while hopping down from the Jeep's high platform.

"Don't worry about it," Stiles dismisses with a helpful grin.

I close his passenger's side door before sprinting towards the café's side entrance; struggling to slip out of my coat on the run there. All of the while as Nina scolded me for my lateness the only thing I could think about was Stiles, and how I hoped he hadn't stuck around long enough to see my face-plant on the way in. Now _that_ would be embarrassing!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary: **Maureen was no one's sister and the closest thing she had to a best friend was her mom. She wouldn't have gotten involved in Beacon Hills' supernatural drama if it wasn't for her knack to notice the things most overlook. It also didn't hurt this mystery was what some could call a "special interest". After all, whenever Stiles Stilinski was involved Maureen couldn't help but pry.

**Rating: **T for Teen

**Pairing: **Stiles/OC (or Miles, as it'll come to be known.)

**Author's Note:** Those of you who follow my Tumblr already know why I have not updated/will have infrequent updates, but for the readers who do not know my "uncle"/Mom's childhood best friend passed away three days ago. To add insult to injury my great-nana (who is 97) has not eaten in six days and has been given a few days to live. I'd apologize for my inconsistency, but I know not only do you all understand but there is nothing to be sorry about. I'll update as I finish chapters but I can't make any promises. Thank you.

**Chapter Six**

"Special delivery!"

Stiles, who had previously been dozing on his desk, jumped in surprise. He quickly wiped at his mouth, checking for drool most likely, as his brow skyrocketed in questioning. I shook the paper bag (which proudly displayed The Knothole's signature logo) in my hand before placing both it and a travel coffee cup on the corner of his desk.

"It's a 'thank you' for yesterday," I elaborate with a shy smile. Stiles immediately reaches into the brown bag and produces the largest chocolate muffin I could find. The smile that lights his face makes my heartbeat fasten, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from doing something embarrassing like squeal. Fan-girling over a non celebrity is usually frowned upon, not to mention could result in a restraining order.

"Oh my god," Stiles admonishes through a mouth full of crumbs as I take my usual seat. "This is delicious."

"You're welcome," I grin in response; feeling irrationally proud of myself for a task so small.

Allison, having been dropped off by Lydia on the blonde's way to Advance Trigonometry, entered the room and immediately sought me out with a thankful smile. The new girl was quick to take her seat while the rest of our class slowly trickled in. "You're a saint," Allison proclaimed suddenly; taking me by surprise. "I didn't even know it was missing!"

I blinked owlishly and pushed my glasses habitably up the bridge of my nose. "Missing?" I echo in confusion.

"My jacket," she gushes while indicating to the leather coat draped over her shoulders; frowning with playful suspicion. "Although I'm not sure how comfortable I feel knowing you can break into my locker. Working in the office has its advantages, huh?"

"I didn't-" the class bell interrupts my denial shrilly, and as I grudgingly turn my attention to Mr. Alan I couldn't help but notice Scott's shoulders had tensed in an almost unnatural way. Is it me, or was Scott McCall growing more and more strange with each passing day? I didn't have the time to continue contemplating Scott's strangeness. Mr. Alan was forcing a quiz down our necks so quickly I nearly choked.

Fifteen minutes in, I heaved a long tired sigh and put my chin in my hand before glancing to Stiles out of habit. I was surprised to see him looking back, and while at first the only thing I noticed were his eyes (which are the color of caramel) it wasn't long until his cheeks caught my attention. I snorted into my hand while mentally comparing him to a chipmunk (he'd stuffed his mouth with the bakery good I'd gifted) before flushing at the unwelcomed sound. He smiled back and my nose crinkled in amused disgust. It seemed our newfound friendship was strengthening my crush, and at this rate I didn't know how long I could take before I cracked.

Come lunch time I found my self seated between Lydia and Allison, and through the hustle and bustle of the cafeteria I noticed that Beacon High's resident golden boy was M.I.A. My curiosity got the better of me and before I knew it I was questioning Lydia of her boyfriend's whereabouts.

"Hey," I began after stabbing my Caesar salad forcibly, "where's Jackson?"

In unison the girls flanking my arms tensed; Lydia in rage and Allison with anticipation. Why did I have the feeling I'd accidentally stepped on a coal mine?

"The hospital," Lydia answered primly while tossing her hair over her shoulder in one elegant movement. My jaw dropped in surprise and I rounded on the strawberry blonde with wide eyes.

"What?" I yelp. "Why? I mean what-what _happened_?"

"Ask Allison," Lydia instructed. "After all, it was _her_ boyfriend who did it."

"Scott?" I question in disbelief while looking toward the brunette at my right. "Scott put Jackson in the hospital?"

"It was an accident," Allison excused. "During practice they-"

"Didn't look like an accident to me," Lydia interrupts with a pretty scowl. "Scott was just jealous-"

"Scott made first line, Lydia," Allison argues heatedly with narrowing eyes. "He has no reason to be jealous." I watched the two bicker for the remainder of lunch; regretting opening my mouth the entire time.

When Chemistry rolled around my neck ached from twisting and turning it for the past forty-two minutes in order to watch the girls' verbal tennis match unfold. Not to mention I hadn't even gotten the answers I was looking for! Lydia and Allison had gotten so caught up in their my-boyfriend vs. your-boyfriend argument I'd been cast to the side without a second thought.

After bypassing Mr. Harris and abandoning Becca in favor of my assigned seat, I fell into the chair beside Beacon High's lacrosse keeper with a polite smile. Danny had always been kind hearted; one of the many reasons why his close friendship with Jackson perplexed me. Speaking of…

"Hey Danny?" I question unsurely as we unanimously unpack the class' supplies.

"What's up, Mo?" he grins; using the childhood nickname I hadn't heard in a fairly long time. The sound of it makes my confidence rise and shoulders square. I can do this, I tell my self. It's just Danny. It's just a question.

"I heard Jackson got hurt yesterday in practice," I tread lightly; not sure how to go about my thirst for answers. "Is he doing okay?" Better to come off as concerned and innocent, right?

Danny bobs his head before replying, "Yeah. Yeah, he's fine. They're giving him Cortizone shots so he can still play in tomorrow's game." The Latino stressfully rubs a hand down his face before sighing, "We're gonna need him; dislocated shoulder or not. Especially since McCall isn't playing."

My brow skyrocketed at his response. "Did Finstock bench him for what he did to Jackson?" More importantly, did Finstock see it the way Lydia did; as a deliberate attack on Beacon High's star player?

"He benched him self actually," Danny answers with an exasperated shake of his head. At my questioning glance he continued, "McCall went to Coach Finstock earlier to duck out. 'Said something about aggression, I think." Before our conversation could continue Mr. Harris was demanding our attention with his usual monotonous drawl. After a shared smile Danny and I went to work; categorizing the different solutions on our desk with ease.

When Chemistry's closing bell chimed, it became apparent my opportunity to find out what happened between Jackson and Scott had come and gone. While the majority of my classmates made their way to Economics I grudgingly trudged toward my work study; knowing there would be a plethora of menial tasks and errands for me to run. I could feel my brain cells prematurely dying from boredom already.

"Good afternoon Ms. Black," Mr. Thorne greets cordially with a stern nod of his head when I enter his office for my assignment.

"Afternoon Principal Thorne," I respond in the usual way while hiking my bag's strap higher on my shoulder. "Is there anything you need me to do?" Here we go again…

XXX

A few hours later as I bussed my last table of the day, all of the while regretting this morning's decision to wear heels immensely, the bell hanging above The Knothole's door _ping_ed loudly; signaling a new costumer. I paid the arrival no mind being as Blaine was working counter until Sherry took over, only to jump quite a few inches into the air when a familiar voice sounded out not a foot away.

"On a scale of one to ten, how weird is Scott?"

I let out an unattractive squawk and cringed as the porcelain mug in my hand fell ungracefully into the tub tucked between my waist and left arm. "Allison!" I admonish while rounding on said girl; pushing my glasses upward out of habit. "You scared me half to death!"

"Sorry," the new girl apologizes sheepishly. "So?" she then prompts with her former determination and eagerness.

"_So _what?" I question in response while turning back to the half-cleaned both once more.

"Scott's level of weirdness?" Allison questions in a pleading tone.

I heave a long sigh before answering, "An eleven. Out of one-to-ten, he's an eleven." I peaked up at Allison through my grandmother's old frames before continuing, "But that isn't necessarily a bad thing." I motioned for the girl to take a seat before doing the same. "Why?" I ask; already knowing the answer.

I watched patiently as Allison worried her bottom lip. "He wants a second chance," she finally confesses, "and I'm not sure if I should give it to him. I mean, he left us stranded at a house party! That isn't okay."

"You're right," I nod uncomfortably; knowing Lydia would have been a much better candidate for boy-talk but feeling flattered Allison went to me regardless. "But, I mean, I guess that's kind of the point. Scott knows he messed up and… well, he's asking for forgiveness. He's admitting he was wrong. That has to count for something right?"

I could see tender thoughts blooming behind Allison's eyes, and as her expression softened it became clear why everyone in this town was so enamored with her. "He's just so _weird_," she insulted fondly with an upward quirk of her lips.

"Cute trumps weird," I respond quickly; paraphrasing a line in one of my favorite television shows. "Now if you'll excuse me, there is a hot shower calling my name."

Allison laughed prettily as we simultaneously stood; me grabbing my rag and tub on the way up. "I don't know how you do it," the new girl confesses while walking me toward the counter. "Between work study and working here you_ still_ manage to get perfect grades, dress in a Lydia-approved manner, and be a good friend. You're amazing, Mori."

I made a noise of disgust when Blaine suddenly planted a wet/sloppy kiss on the apple of my cheek. "I've been telling her that for ages!" he gushes while swiping my cleaning tools and dumping them into The Knothole's restaurant regulated sink.

"_Lydia-approved_?" I scoff in deflection while stepping out of my apron. "She tells me I need a makeover three times a day."

Allison playfully scowls before replying, "I get it four."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary: **Maureen was no one's sister and the closest thing she had to a best friend was her mom. She wouldn't have gotten involved in Beacon Hills' supernatural drama if it wasn't for her knack to notice the things most overlook. It also didn't hurt this mystery was what some could call a "special interest". After all, whenever Stiles Stilinski was involved Maureen couldn't help but pry.

**Rating: **T for Teen

**Pairing: **Stiles/OC (or Miles, as it'll come to be known.)

**Author's Note:** Huzzah, another new chapter! I'd greatly appreciate reviews as they are what inspires me most. Check out my social media accounts- all of which are linked to on my profile. Enjoy!

**Chapter Seven**

"Closing time," Blaine suddenly exclaimed in a singsong tone that had me grinning like a fool. "Happy Friday, Mo!" I giggled deliriously when the college student grabbed me from behind in order to spin me in circles; all of the while shouting for him to let me down.

"Alright children," Mom tsks while emerging from the back room; shaking out her dampened hands. "Don't make me regret letting you two off for the night."

"It isn't as if you had a choice," I point out while straightening my crooked glasses. "Lydia wouldn't have taken no for an answer."

"Y'know what they say about redheads," Blaine cuts in while throwing a nimble arm around my shoulders. "They've got fiery tempers. Isn't that right Mrs. B?"

Mom rolls her eyes while tying back her obviously auburn hair. "Keep talkin' kid, and I'll have you working overtime," she threatens with jest in her tone. Wanting to cut their usual banter short I bounded forward to hang my waitressing smock and grab my purse.

"I'll be home by nine," I promise after kissing the apple of my mother's cheek.

"You better," she warns with parental sternness. "I don't need a call from the police department telling me you're out past curfew."

"Don't worry, I'll have her home on time," Blaine grins while taking hold of my hand and tugging me toward the front entrance/exit.

"You better!" Mom calls as the warning bell chimes over head. Her response is the muffled _thud_ of the glass door closing behind us. I shiver involuntarily as a harsh wind blows and huddle closer toward Blaine's towering frame.

"Aren't we heading out a little early?" I question as we approach his eco-friendly car. "The game doesn't start for another fifty minutes."

He helps me into the car and runs around to the driver's side before replying, "I want to get good seats. Beside, you finally agreed to go on a date with me and-"

"This isn't a date," I interrupt uncomfortably. "We agreed this isn't a date."

"Fine," Blaine agrees (too) easily. "Now that you finally agreed to _hang out with me outside of work_, I figure I should milk as much time as I can." I eyed the undeniably handsome foreigner guiltily before heaving out a complacent sigh.

"I've never seen a lacrosse game before," I admit suddenly; trying desperately to change our topic of conversation. "I won't have any idea what's going on."

"That's what I'm there for," Blaine replies helpfully in his Irish lilt while throwing his car in reverse.

It took me three minutes to notice our drive was spent moving ten miles below the speed limit, and while I was irritated with Blaine's version of 'milking' our time together I couldn't help but also feel flattered. As he sang humorously along to the radio I couldn't hold back my budding guilt. It was one of those times where I so desperately wanted to like him back- in more than a platonic way. Blaine was handsome, older, Irish, and my mother _adores _him but… the spark just isn't there. I mean all Stiles has to do is glance in my direction and my heart beats quicker than a freight train! That has to be a sign, right?

"Look at this little weirdo," Blaine suddenly admonishes after turning down one of Beacon Hills' nameless roads. I push up my glasses and squint into the darkness before letting out a gasp of recognition. Is that-?

"I know that little weirdo!" I exclaim before swelling with mortification. "I-I mean that I know him," I then correct as my cheeks heat uncomfortably. "He's dating Allison, that girl from yesterday?" My eyes flicker to Blaine's face as he gives a short nod; indicating he knew who I was speaking of. "Hey, could you pull over?"

Blaine makes a guttural whine and questions, "Oh, don't tell me you want me to drive this kid-?"

"I do, actually," I interrupt with a disappointed frown.

"But we're on a date!" he explodes childishly. I set the young Irish man a flat gaze before he grudgingly approaches the walking teen in submission.

I roll down the window at my right before calling out, "Hey Scott!" Allison's boyfriend jumps violently at my shout before twisting his body so he faced us. I could have sworn I'd seen his eyes flash luminescent amber, but the sight had come and gone so quickly I had to have imagined it.

"Maureen," Scott sighed in relief; as if he'd been afraid I was some kind of murderous beast.

"Hey," I greet again with an uneasy smile. "Uhm I- I was just wondering if you needed a ride to the game?"

Scott's asymmetrical face turned eager before impassive. I'd noticed the switch was due to Blaine's disgruntled mumbles, and while I was surprised to find Scott could hear my co-worker's mutterings a car and two yards apart I didn't let it show. Instead I simply shoved my fist into Blaine's gut while insisting Scott join us. Blaine let out a winded gasp as Scott accepted the offer; chuckling inconspicuously as he graciously thanked me.

"So…" I began uncomfortably after a few moments of tense silence, "are you excited for the game?"

"Oh, you play?" Blaine suddenly interrogates after glancing to Scott out of his rearview mirror.

"I'm first line," Scott boasts proudly in a way that makes me involuntarily smile.

"Allison told me you were amazing at tryouts," I inform the teen with a cheeky grin that had him flushing.

"She said that?" Scott questions hopefully as his signature puppy-dog look overtakes his features once more.

I open my mouth to reply, only to scowl when Blaine pointedly interrupts. "You're not that kid who left my girlfriend stranded at that ginger girl's house, are you?" he questions in a tough-guy tone that makes me want to vomit.

"I'm not your girlfriend," I correct pointedly as annoyance creeps into my tone. I swivel around in my seat to face Scott before repeating, "I'm not his girlfriend."

"Yet," Blaine tacks on with a charming smile that makes my blood boil.

"Ever," I shoot back. "And yes Scott, she_ did_ really say that."

"I never apologized for stranding you at Lydia's," the Latino guiltily confesses as his face twists into a frown. "I'm sorry. I swear I had a good excuse-"

"It's alright," I interrupt shortly. I'd always been uncomfortable with accepting apologies. "Your friend Derek got us home alright. No harm, no foul."

We pull into the school's filling parking lot as Scott growls, "He isn't my friend. Derek's… dangerous. You should stay away from him." Scott then bolted from the back seat just as Blaine's car came to a full stop; making me blink owlishly in surprise.

"Weirdo," Blaine murmurs with a shake of his head, and I couldn't help but agree. Something strange was going on with Scott McCall this year; there was no denying it. What with his breaking into my neighbor's pool, bailing out on Lydia's party without warning, wandering around the back roads of Beacon Hills without apparent reason, and his reaction to me mentioning Derek Hale my interest was undeniably caught.

"How about those seats, huh?" I question distractedly while beating Blaine to my passenger's side door. While the barista had picked up on Scott's oddities I didn't want him to mull them over.

Blaine held my hand throughout our trek toward the bleachers, and while I initially/naively believed he had done it so we wouldn't get separated his true intentions become obvious once we were seated. I'd shaken off his affection as politely as possible (that is to say, not at all) before ditching him in search of Allison who had sent me a barrage of indecipherable texts- all of which ending in far too many exclamation points. The only thing I got from her messages was that something had detrimental happened to Scott pre-drive over, and it had something to do with her dad.

When I finally found the pretty brunette she was already nestled between Lydia and her copious amount of supportive posters. I waved clumsily to catch their attention, and once spotted both girls smiled in welcoming. The simple act made my heart swell with disbelief and happiness, and my face flushed all over. It would take me a long while to adapt to the feeling of having genuine friends, but it was an assimilation I was happy to make.

"You'll never guess what happened," Lydia suddenly gossiped upon my arrival. Allison groaned lowly, but the grin on her face indicated everything but irritation. "Allison's dad hit Scott with his car!"

I guffawed loudly; unable to contain myself. "Oh my god," I admonish through a delirious giggle.

"I know!" Lydia cackles in a pitch too high and feminine to sound sinister.

"Maureen!" Blaine's Irish lilt calls loudly as he stumbles clumsily over to Allison, Lydia, and my self. I pull a face, making Allison giggle in amusement, before turning to my co-worker with a polite grin. "I thought you'd ditched me," he confesses with a relieved sigh.

"No," I half-lie, "I just wanted to say hi to my friends. You remember Lydia and Allison, right? Guys, this is Blaine. He's my-"

"Boyfriend."

"Co-worker," I correct with a harsh glare that does nothing but make his smirk widen. The loud shrill of an athletic whistle suddenly pierced the air; indicating the start of the county's first lacrosse game of the season and my first lacrosse game… ever.

Blaine prattled throughout the entire game. From the moment we reclaimed our seats until the score board's countdown ended he went on and on. I would have impressed by his extensive knowledge if it wasn't so damn _irritating_. I had grasped the concept of the native sport early into the match; meaning the other forty-odd minutes had been a nonstop overkill that left me internally fuming.

There had only been one thing that outweighed my irritation, and that was my ever-growing obsession with Scott McCall. While for the entirety of the first half Jackson had rigged the game so no Beacon players would pass to their new star, once halftime came and went Scott pulled the team out from behind until they eventually won. While being a game's MVP wasn't suspicious per say, his aggressive tactics were. Blaine thought his excessive tackling was "brilliant", and it appeared Coach Finstock felt the same way what with the tears of mirth in his eyes. I was happy for the team's win, don't get me wrong, but something about it felt odd. For some reason I got the inkling Scott had somehow cheated, and as the field cleared I couldn't help but find Jackson's theory of steroids more and more appealing. In fact…

"Hey, I'll meet you by the car," I dismiss Blaine after descending the cold metal bleachers which had previously turned my ass into an ice cube. "I want to congratulate the team." Totally. I mean, if 'congratulate the team' meant 'threaten Scott into confessing he's on drugs before demanding he get the help he needs'.

"It's ten to eight," Blaine responds with a handsome frown.

"It'll take two minutes," I promise before placing a kiss to the left side of his jaw; manipulating him expertly in a way that made me feel lower than dirt. "I promise." The poor Irishman was so dazed he gaped like a fish as I walked away; channeling some of Lydia's confidence so my hair bounced with each strut.

All confidence left me once I approached the boys' locker overhang. This was crazy, I decided. Completely psychotic. I was not Lydia Martin- I couldn't just burst into the boys' locker room accusing Scott McCall of juicing up. I didn't have the proof or, more importantly, the guts… and so I did what I always do. I turned my heel and walked away; ignoring the loud and suspicious noises coming from the large room behind me.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary: **Maureen was no one's sister and the closest thing she had to a best friend was her mom. She wouldn't have gotten involved in Beacon Hills' supernatural drama if it wasn't for her knack to notice the things most overlook. It also didn't hurt this mystery was what some could call a "special interest". After all, whenever Stiles Stilinski was involved Maureen couldn't help but pry.

**Rating: **T for Teen

**Pairing: **Stiles/OC (or Miles, as it'll come to be known.)

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the lack of Miles in these past few chapters! Their relationship will pick up pace once Maureen is in the know. Enjoy and please leave a review!

**Chapter Eight**

"… _the former prime suspect of murder victim Laura Hale was exonerated late Friday evening due to forensic evidence collected by the sheriff's department. This evidence suggested Laura Hale had in fact been mauled by some kind of animal..."_

I groaned loudly and swiped at my eyes in annoyance. "Mom," I say, "stop watching the news. All it does is freak you out."

My mother, a mirror image of the pure exhaustion I felt, peaked her head up from over the lip of our couch. "I've lived in Beacon Hills for as many years as you've been alive," she announces in a grim tone, "and I've never seen anything like this."

I grab a cup of Joe off of our kitchen counter before yawning, "Maybe we should move somewhere metropolitan."

"I like the woods," she defends.

"Yeah," I snort disbelievingly with a roll of my eyes. "Just not what lurks in them."

"As a child your mother was afraid of her own shadow," Nona informs me suddenly whilst entering the room with a teasing smile on her aging face. I immediately went to give my visiting grandmother a kiss as Mom scowled in annoyance. I giggled at her irate expression, which resulted in the redirection of her glare.

"At least I have a shadow to be afraid of," she childishly jabs; making me roll my eyes at her immaturity. While it was true at all angles of the sun my shadow was never spotted, the oddity never bothered me. I was a corporal being and that was enough for me. In fact, I'd developed the mentality that people with shadows are just show-offs.

"_Breaking news! Earlier reports of a body found at Beacon Hills High have just been confirmed by the sheriff's department during an impromptu press conference in front of the first precinct. Cindy Gallo is on scene. Cindy?"_

Nona and I sunk beside my mother in unison. I was sure the three of us had identical expressions of shock and disbelief as Channel 12 News cut to a shot of Cindy Gallo standing a few yards in front of a crimson-splattered school bus. The signature red and blue lights of police vehicles cast colorful glows on her sides due to the early morning's lack of daylight, and my stomach churned at the sight of officers crawling around the crime scene like ants. If I looked hard enough I bet I could even make out Stiles' dad…

"_Good morning Jim," _Cindy greets in a stern and obligatory way. _"This morning an anonymous source called in what they believed to be the defacing of school property. Upon arrival investigators were quick to see this was not the case. While the body has yet to be identified or confirmed to be deceased, it is clear by the gruesome scene behind me a horrific attack took place in the early hours of this Monday morning. The police department urge anyone with information to call the hotline listed below,"_ it was at that point where I tuned Cindy Gallo out. Instead I turned to my mother with widening eyes.

"You're staying home," she ordered suddenly in a grim and frightened tone that did nothing to soothe my fraying nerves.

"Oh no she isn't," Nona denied with a stern shake of her head. "She's a Black. Blacks aren't cowards."

"Besides," I continue while pursing my trembling lips, "Principal Thorne will need me. That man buckles under stress. Collapses is a more accurate phrasing, actually. In fact," I hop to my feet and slip on my coat and bag, "I should probably head in early to help out."

"I'll drive you," Nona volunteers while steering me toward the foyer; grabbing Doris' keys out of our decretive bowl on the way out… and just like that my mother had no say at all. Nona gives me six more book titles and their author's to read on the drive over. They're all written by her peers; _Understanding the Supernatural_ by Piper Wolfe (which, surprisingly enough, is her honest-to-god name- or so my Nona insists), _Vampiric Tales_ by Nancy Stine (whom I met last year at her annual fancy dress Halloween party), _The White Oak_ written by Kingston Harolds, and a plethora of others.

This is how things go with my grandmother. She gives me books to read and once I've finished with them she calls me to talk about them. It had started when I was too young to retain memories and spiraled from there. Sometimes I would be issued the textbooks her students were loaned (all of which were written by her and published by "a close friend"), but it was mostly paperbacks. I have three seven-foot bookshelves lining the left wall of my room; all of which were overflowing with supernatural themed novels and things of the like. I could tell you more about a werewolf's anatomy than I could a human's. I know it's strange, but I actually kind of like it. For one thing it bonded me and my grandmother in a way she and my mother never shared. Every time I was given a new title it was as if I was being let in on a secret- even if the book had a plethora of awards and the words _Best Selling!_ printed across its front.

"Good lord," Nona suddenly muttered while pulling into the school's student parking lot. Her perpetually watering eyes scanned the surrounding area slowly as if she was putting the macabre scene before us to memory. It was then that I realized she probably was. Morbid fascination and her supernatural obsession went hand in hand. Birds-of-a-feather and all that.

"I'll call you once I'm off of work study," I say while pulling my satchel's strap overhead. "Principal Thorne will most likely keep me later than usual."

"This is a madhouse," Nona says distractedly in response as her far off gaze continues steadily.

"I'll call you," I repeat; sternly this time.

"Have a good day, dear."

I exit the car with my head turned down. I try to tell myself I don't want to see it. Not the blood or the officers but- well, I'm like my Nona you see. Morbid fascination runs in the Black bloodline.

I tried to make it appear casual. If I didn't look like I was rubber-necking then I wasn't. I just… observed. My eyes took in the yellow bus' mangled door and copious amount of blood splatter; all the while my stomach twisted and turned on itself. Was that- was that a bloody handprint?

"Oh thank goodness, Miss. Black." I yelped violently at Principal Thorne's sudden arrival, and turned to the man with a sheepish grin. "I take it you got my phone call?"

"Yes," I lie as we make our way into the building; not wanting to seem like a goody two-shoes. "What can I do to help?"

As it turns out… a lot. I personally got in touch with all 476 faculty members (or their family at the very least) to confirm whether or not they've been accounted for. I then sent out a mass e-mail to every parent in our database which said our typical saving-face deflection. We'll contact you as the police department releases more information. 'Our school day will continue on normally. Counseling will be provided for students who feel they need it. Yada, yada, yada.'

By the time Principal Thorne released me it was fifteen minutes into lunch time, and I was famished to the point I'd only been let go because my stomach was growling too loudly for Thorne to think. My run to the lunch room was spent debating whether or not I had the grounds to file a child abuse law suit. In fact, I'd been so distracted by my bureaucratic thoughts and overwhelming hunger I didn't even notice what was becoming my usual crowd had seated themselves around Scott and Stiles' normal table- and I didn't even notice _that_ until Lydia nearly broke my shin with her pointed heel.

"Wha?" I mumbled through a mouthful of pasta salad whilst glaring daggers at my strawberry blonde friend.

"You're acting like you've never seen food before," Lydia hisses while matching my stare.

I straighten my posture in indignation before replying, "I've spent the past three and a half hours dealing with hysterical parents and dodging story-hungry reporters. I worked up an appetite. _Deal with it_."

"Hunger makes Maureen irritable," Becca proclaims in a tone of amusement and apology.

"I can see that," Stiles suddenly jokes; catching me by surprise and causing a piece of steamed broccoli to lodge itself in my throat. I pulled off my glasses so I could wipe at my watering eyes before chugging my miniature Poland Springs all in once go. Wonderful, now Stiles must think I'm a total spazz!

I reached out to take hold of my discarded glasses only for Lydia to catch hold of my wrist. "Don't put those back on," she ordered in a voice that oozed with authority. "You look_ much_ prettier without them."

"I like the glasses," Allison interjects sweetly from her seat at my left. "They're very retro."

"They were my Nona's frames," I inform the brunette with a small smile while ignoring Lydia's command and correcting my vision once more.

"She's the supernatural expert, right?" the new girl questions with a slight furrow of her brow.

"Supernatural?" Stiles echoes from across the way.

I glance between my crush, Allison, and Scott (who had been obviously listening in) before giving my head a short nod. "Yeah," I say. "My Nona teaches folklore at that private university two towns over. Her specialty is werewolves." It was impossible to miss the panicked look Scott and Stiles shared.

"Werewolves," Stiles repeats with a hollow laugh. "You don't say."

"As riveting as this conversation is," Becca monotonously drawls, "_I_ would like to hear your inside scoop."

I blinked owlishly in surprise after noticing her hazel eyes were trained on me. "I don't have an 'inside' anything," I say while fidgeting uncomfortably underneath the teens' looks of interest. "I only know that all students and faculty were accounted for."

"But do you know who killed the guy?" Becca presses.

"He hasn't been announced dead," Scott corrects before glancing toward Stiles nervously. "Right?"

"Right," I intercept with the most reassuring smile I could muster. Scott looked much more concerned about this morning's incident than anyone else, and despite my suspicions over the teen he was still my (sort of) friend. "Besides," I continue in the hopes of soothing his nerves, "Principal Thorne seems to think it was another mountain lion attack. As long as you stay away from the woods you should be fine."

"But that guy wasn't in the woods last night," Allison comments while worrying her bottom lip with anxiety. "I mean, the mountain lion must've broken into the bus to get him, right?"

"I heard it was a cougar," is Jackson's brilliant addition to our conversation.

Lydia rolls her eyes before correcting, "A cougar_ is_ a mountain lion." My blood simmered with anger when, to cover up her smart, Lydia pitched her tone girlishly before questioning, "Isn't it?"

"Who cares?" Jackson counters; obviously disgruntled over being outsmarted by his girlfriend. "It's probably some homeless tweaker who was gonna die, anyway."

"That's a horrible thing to say," I admonish; unable to stop myself.

"Oh here we go again," Becca groans with a roll of her almond shaped eyes. "You've gone and opened up Maureen's bleeding heart."

"They just identified the victim," Stiles suddenly announces whilst displaying his opened phone. "Check it out."

This morning's Cindy Gallo appeared on screen once more, and her distinct voice crackled through the small phone's speakers. _"The Sheriff's department won't speculate on details of the incident,"__ she says over clips of the bus and its inhabiting officers. __"But have confirmed the victim, Garrison Meyers, survived the attack."__ A picture of a smiling, middle-aged man suddenly appeared on screen, and I noticed Scott's eyes widened to the size of saucers._

"I know that guy!" the new lacrosse star exclaimed; looking undeniably shaken by the words coming from his mouth.

Allison's eyes snapped to Scott's face as she questioned in concern, "You do?"

"Yeah," he sighs in shock. "Yeah," he then repeats. "He- when I used to take the bus back when I lived with my dad, he was the driver."

The table fell into a solemn silence at the news, but Lydia cut our somber mood in the bud as quickly as possible. "Can we please talk about something more fun?" she pleaded with irritation in her tone. "Like… oh! Where are we going to go tomorrow night?" Her green eyes turned to Scott and Allison expectantly; making the couple go wide eyed in surprise. "You said you and Scott were hanging out tomorrow, right?"

I cringed sympathetically at the couple before turning interestingly back to my salad.

"Uh," Allison fumbled ungracefully, "we were still thinking of what we'd like to do."

"Well I'm not sitting home again watching lacrosse videos," Lydia prattled importantly. "So if the six of us are hanging out we're going to do something fun!"

"Six?" Scott questions as my head snaps up in surprise.

"Well," Lydia begins pointedly whilst flipping her curled hair over her shoulder, "I was thinking Maureen could bring her boyfriend too."

"Boyfriend?" Stiles questions while turning his attention to me in surprise. My face flares at the interrogation and I send an angry glare Lydia's way.

"Blaine and I aren't dating," I say for what seems like the millionth time.

"I never pictured you as a girl who played hard to get," Lydia muses with a devilish smirk.

"You know what they say," Danny teasingly interjects. "It's the quiet ones you've got to watch out for."

"Danny!" I admonish in mortification while putting my cold hands to my overheating cheeks. "Don't encourage her!"

"Oh stop playing coy," Lydia dismisses with a wave of her manicured hand. "I saw you kiss him."

"Oh my god," I mutter while hiding behind my hair and hands. "We're not going on your group date," I then deny with a shake of my head.

"Boyfriend," Stiles repeats; as if the very word perplexed him greatly. "When did this happen?"

I open my mouth to respond only for Lydia to plough through. "How about bowling, then?" she suggests before turning expectantly to her boyfriend. "You love to bowl!" she coerces with a charming grin.

"Yeah," Jackson scoffs with a roll of his eyes, "with real competition."

It appeared as if he'd said exactly what Allison needed to hear. A competitive smirk broke out across her face as she questioned, "How do you know we're not real competition?" Allison turned to Scott before asking, "You can bowl, right?"

As Scott stumbled over his reply, I got the sudden mental image of Cory Roderick's seventh birthday party. His parents had rented our Lucky Strike! and invited the entirety of Mrs. Howell's first grade class for the celebration. Scott had managed to get gutter balls despite the bumpers set up in prevention. He was an awful bowler. Absolutely horrific to be honest, and I seriously doubted he'd spent the last nine years honing his skill.

Which was why I giggled when he proclaimed to be "an excellent" bowler. In all honesty I couldn't wait to hear about the disaster their date would turn out to be.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary: **Maureen was no one's sister and the closest thing she had to a best friend was her mom. She wouldn't have gotten involved in Beacon Hills' supernatural drama if it wasn't for her knack to notice the things most overlook. It also didn't hurt this mystery was what some could call a "special interest". After all, whenever Stiles Stilinski was involved Maureen couldn't help but pry.

**Rating: **T for Teen

**Pairing: **Stiles/OC (or Miles, as it'll come to be known.)

**Author's Note:** Okay, lot's of important things to discuss. All previous mentions of a character named Clarissa will be disregarded. This is because myself and the author of Bits of Sunshine (a Vampire Diaries fanfiction- link is in my favorite stories) will, eventually, be doing a crossover. It's gonna be epic so get excited! Secondly, some of you may have noticed I deleted two stories. They were titled Joker and Her Diamonds. I removed them because writing chapters became more so an obligation than an enjoyment. Hope you understand! As always leave a review once finished reading and check out my fanfiction/fandom tumblr! It's linked on my profile.

**Chapter Nine**

After closing up shop at The Knothole I entered my mother's minivan with a violent shiver. My numbing hands, slick with the rain residue on Doris' handles, fumbled to crank up the system's heat. It appeared as if this winter was coming up fast. Ring! Ring! Ring! I jumped at the sudden shrill of my cell phone before gathering my wits and fishing the portable device from my coat pocket. MOM along with her corresponding picture flashed across its screen. I exhaled an irritated sigh before picking up on the fourth ring. "Hello?"

"Where are you?" she asks; skipping any form of greeting altogether.

"In the car," I say, "on my way home."

"Have you passed the Mini Mart yet?"

"No," I answer in a defeated tone, already knowing where this was going. "What do you need me to pick up?"

"Milk," she answers. "Two percent if they have it."

"If I get taken into custody for being out past curfew-"

"I'll post bail," Mom promises with a short laugh. "Thank you, sweetie."

"Yeah, yeah," I mutter with a roll of my eyes before locking my screen and throwing the phone into the depths of my purse. Another day, another errand. I just hoped to make it home before the rain picked up.

The drive to Beacon Hills' local 7/11 knockoff store went quickly. Upon arrival I park Doris in the usual spot; beside the building's back corner. After cutting off the van's engine I extracted my wallet from the glove compartment and make my way around the bend to the Mini Mart's storefront. My eyes routinely scanned the gas station portion of Mr. Frank's business, and at the sight of Derek Hale I abruptly stopped short. I feel my pulse hasten as I childishly dive behind the nearest wall; frightened out of my mind for no reason at all. He's just getting gas, I scold myself while fiddling with the fraying strings of my sweater. Quit being such a coward!

I inhale bracingly before peaking out from my hiding place. My brow skyrockets at the sight of Chris Argent and two stereotypical henchmen approaching the very man I'd been fretting over. What in the world-?

"Nice ride," Allison's father compliments, intimidating. "Black cars though," he then tsks after brandishing a nearby window washer, "very hard to keep clean. I would definitely suggest a little more maintenance." I watched with baited breath as Mr. Argent began meticulously wiping down Derek's windshield; somehow making an every day task terrifying. "If you have something nice you'd want to take care of it, wouldn't you? Personally I'm very protective of the things I love. Take my family, for instance. Although you don't have much of that lately, do you?"

I gasped involuntarily at the insinuation, and from the way Derek tilted his head in my direction I knew he'd somehow heard it. Shit, shit, shit! I wanted to run and hide but my curiosity kept me rooted in place. There was an underlying threat going on here, and I needed to know what it was. Self preservations be damned; I would deal with the consequences later.

"There we go," Mr. Argent relents while packing away the cleaning tools he'd commandeered. "You can actually look through your windshield now. See how much… clearer things are now?"

As Chris and his henchmen made their way back to (what I assumed to be) their car Derek spitefully called, "You forgot to check the oil."

My muscles seized as Chris tersely ordered his men to "check the man's oil." The threat in Mr. Argent's tone was clear, and I began to tremble when one of his men took hold of the squeegee Allison's father had previously used. My hands flew to my mouth while I inhaled a horrified gasp at the sight before me. Glass shards, which had previously made up the Camaro's drivers side window, fell to the ground with an ear-splitting shatter. I quickly turned on my heel before sprinting back to Doris as frightened tears collected in my eyes. I wasn't sure what I'd just seen, but I knew it wasn't good. Something big was happening in Beacon Hills… and despite my overwhelming sense of fear I was determined to find out what.

The first step on this search for knowledge? Scott McCall.

Come Thursday morning I stalked toward Scott's locker with my head held high and shoulders pushed back. I made sure I looked just as confident as I didn't feel (that is to say, a lot). It appeared to have worked because when I reached Scott and Stiles both teenagers looked to me with wide, nervous eyes.

"H-hey," Stiles stuttered while doing his best to appear casual. "Maureen, what's-?"

"Save it," I interrupt sternly whilst raising a silencing hand and training my eyes on my crush's best friend. "Monday night before the lacrosse game you told me to stay away from Derek Hale," I begin in a voice just loud enough to sound serious without being overheard. "You said that he's dangerous," I continue. "I need to know why."

"Derek Hale?" Scott splutters after sharing a mortified look with Stiles. "What- what makes you think I know anything about-?"

"Because you told me!" I explode; jumping slightly like my aunt Shirley's manic Chihuahua, Kiwi. "Now stop beating around the bush because I know you know something you're not telling me, and I need to know what it is and why you're so scared of it."

"Hey now," Stiles interrupts while physically moving himself between Scott's and my bodies. "Take a deep breath, okay? Calm down."

I looked from Scott's eyes to Stiles' before backing up a few steps and giving a stern nod. "I'm calm," I promise before pulling a face and shaking my head. "Actually, y'know what? I'm not calm. I'm freaking out, and you want to know why?" I paused briefly and, upon their gaping nods, continue, "Because last night I saw something I shouldn't have."

The boys glance nervously to one another before Scott questions, "What did you see?"

"I saw Allison's father threaten Derek Hale," I reply in a grim tone as my lower lip involuntarily trembles. "And then I saw Mr. Argent smash Derek's window in."

"But what did they say?" Stiles presses although what he's really asking is, How much do you already know?

Well, I didn't know anything but if I told them that the there's no way in hell I'd be getting any information out of them. Instead of going the truthful route, I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose with an accusing expression on my face. "If I don't get answers by the end of today I'm going to Allison's father," I deflect. "And something tells me neither you nor Derek want that."

"Maureen!" Lydia calls impatiently from Allison's locker across the way.

I glance momentarily over Scott's shoulder before meeting Stiles' gaze once more. "Find me," I demand, and with that I took my leave; grinning sheepishly at the girls as I made my way over. Oh, this was going to be a long day.

XxX

"Staring at that clock-"

"Won't make time go any faster," I finish drolly whilst wiping down The Knothole's counter for the sixth time this evening. "Yes Nona, I know." I giggle when she lightly towel-whips my arm before turning to the elder with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry."

Nona waves my apology off. "It's no worry, dear," she says. For a moment we work in silence. "Have you looked over those books I gave you?"

"Yeah," I nod while scrubbing down on a particularly stubborn caramel drip. I push my glasses back onto their original perch before continuing, "The White Oak was… different. I mean, you've never given me vampiric lore before."

Nona smiles under my questioning stare. "We've focused so much of your studies on lycanthropy. I just wanted to… cover the bases. Before it's too late." Before she couldn't remember.

"How did the doctor's go today?" I ask in a forced tone of nonchalance.

"Not right now," she replies sternly. Once more we work in silence. "Where's your mother?"

"Another Starbucks meeting," I sigh. "She won't be home until late tonight. They're negotiating over dinner."

Nona hums before questioning, "Then what are you waiting for?"

I stop my motions and look up to her; wide eyed. "Who-who said I'm waiting for anything?"

"Your eyes," she grins. "My mind may be going sweet pea, but I'm still cooking with gas."

Ting! I face the front door gratefully; eager to serve whoever had saved me from a conversation I really, really didn't want to have. My relieved smile falls when I realize this customer isn't a customer at all. "Stiles."

The sheriff's son waves lightly; a small, jerky movement that was obviously forced under the guise of being polite. "He-ey Maureen. You uhm, do you have a minute?" Stiles glances to my Nona momentarily before continuing, "To uh, y'know… talk."

"Well how's that for coincidence," Nona gushes while slapping her hand down onto our pristine counter top. "Reeny here was just about to take her fifteen." I watched through wide eyes as she extended her hand with a large smile. "My name's Ellie. I'm Maureen's grandmother. Tell me, Stiles was it?, how do you know my little Maureen?"

"School, Nona," I answer shortly whilst taking off my barista gear. My hands shook as I struggled to hang my working smock, but after a few infinite seconds I finally came out victor. "Let's- let's go, Stiles."

"Go?" Nona echoes whilst taking hold of Stiles' nearest arm. "You two can talk here, can't you?"

"Uhm-"

"It's a little too loud," I interrupt Stiles' fumbling with an apologetic grin. Half way to the exit I call for the sheriff's frozen son over my shoulder. "Stiles?"

"Yes!" he replied quickly. "Yes I am- I'm coming. Yes. Elle- Ellie it was… nice to meet you." I cringed as my grandmother cackled; obviously amused over the fact she intimidated Stiles so much. Geesh, what a nightmare!

"I'm sorry about her," I apologize quickly as we bypass the parking lot in favor of a nearby Reserve Trail. "She's a little… overbearing at times."

"No, no," Stiles dismissed politely. "She was uh, fine. Yeah. Fine."

For a few painfully uncomfortable minutes, the only noise heard was the sound of our feet crushing decaying leaves. Unable to stand our silence anymore I say, "It's late. You're… late. I thought you would have come talk to me sooner."

Stiles releases a long winded sigh and runs a hand over his short hair. "I wanted to," he confesses. "But I got caught up with… something."

"That something have to do with Derek Hale?" I interrogate before I can stop myself. At his alarmed expression I avert my eyes and continue, "I heard about the traffic jam today in the Student Parking Lot. Baby blue Jeep nearly runs over older, intimidating, leather-clad guy? Sounds familiar."

"I thought you didn't like to gossip," Stiles deflects.

I square my shoulders in an attempt to appear more confident before looking him straight in the eye. "I lied."

Stiles' expression twists to one of irritation. "Stop looking, Maureen."

My steps falter and I set him with a resigned stare. "You're not going to tell me what's going on, are you?"

"No," he admits with a shake of his head.

Red hot frustration sparks in my veins, and I feel my gaze shift from stare to glare. "So you dragged me all of the way out here to… to tell me to back off? To stop looking?"

"Hey now," Stiles half jokes, "there was no dragging."

"If you won't tell me I'll just figure it out my self."

Stiles licks his lips in preparation before snapping, "Even if, by some miracle, you figure out what's going on you wouldn't believe it. Just… just let it go, okay? Forget about what you saw last night. Forget that Derek Hale even exists."

"It's big, isn't it?" I question breathlessly; taken aback by the underlying panic in Stiles' tone. "Whatever it is you and Scott are hiding, it- it's huge. Detrimental, even."

"You have no idea."

"If you're trying to deter me," I begin after a sharp intake of breath, "it isn't working."

"Dammit, Maureen!" he shouts; making me jump in surprise. "This isn't some game, okay? People are dying. There's a freaking body count-!"

"So it's about the murders?" I deduce. "Laura Hale, the bus driver. You- you'd said you and Scott were out looking for the other half of Laura's body."

"Shit," Stiles cursed. "Shit. Okay. Okay, y'know what? Let's go back to the café." I couldn't help but smile as he took my by the arm; giddy from both our physical contact and the fact that I was catching on to something.

When I stumbled back into my mother's shop, there wasn't a doubt in my mind that I would figure this thing out. Call it another… morbid fascination of mine. I needed to know what Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski were hiding. I _needed_ to.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary: **Maureen was no one's sister and the closest thing she had to a best friend was her mom. She wouldn't have gotten involved in Beacon Hills' supernatural drama if it wasn't for her knack to notice the things most overlook. It also didn't hurt this mystery was what some could call a "special interest". After all, whenever Stiles Stilinski was involved Maureen couldn't help but pry.

**Rating: **T for Teen

**Pairing: **Stiles/OC (or Miles, as it'll come to be known.)

**Author's Note:** So this chapter went much differently than I originally had in mind, but I'm very happy with its overall result! As always please leave me a review once you've finished reading. Check out my social media accounts; there are links on my profile. Thank so much for reading!

**Chapter Ten**

Stiles and Scott took to avoiding me. For the entirety of Friday's classes the best friends averted their eyes, left me out of conversation, and even went so far as to physically turn away from me. Oddly enough, this did nothing but amuse me. Why? Because they were afraid… of me! _Me_! The lacrosse star and his sidekick were scared of a painfully awkward girl with social anxiety, high blood pressure, and vision a few steps up from being legally blind. Can you believe it? I was in such good spirits over their odd (though understandable) behavior even Lydia seemed to notice.

The strawberry blonde set me with a leveled stare over her homemade health salad. "What's got you so… perky?"

"Yeah," Allison cuts in with an eager smile. "You've been giggly all day."

"It's nothing," I dismiss before throwing a pointed look Scott and Stiles' way. "I've just been working on this… research project, and yesterday turned out to be very informative."

"Trust Maureen to be excited over reading," Becca snorts; cutting her conversation with Danny short to make the tease.

I pull a mocking face in retaliation before ducking behind Jackson when Becca launched an olive my way. "Eep!" Lydia's boyfriend made a show of rolling his eyes at our antics, but I knew all irritation was just on the surface. Jackson Whittemore (platonically) liked me, and it was becoming more and more obvious as the days went on. Just this time yesterday he warded Greenburg off of me when said mid-fielder got a little too close for comfort. Lydia even gushed via text message after she questioned him about me. Apparently I'm "less annoying than her other friends". In Jackson Speak that was the equivalent of a gold-star review, and I was undeniably flattered by our budding friendship.

"Is it about that book your Nona gave you?" Allison prompts; an eager beaver to know more about what my grandmother and I discuss. For some reason Allison was completely enamored by Nona. They met Tuesday after school once Allison was finished watching lacrosse practice with Lydia, and me finished dealing with Mr. Thorne's post bus driver's death freak-out. The two had hit it off immediately. Apparently Nona was a lot like Allison's aunt Kate; a woman who had come to town two nights ago unexpectedly. Allison had been itching to introduce us ever since. "The one about vampires?"

"Not just vampires," I gush with a half-lie. "The _original_ vamp-"

"Speaking of things that go bump in the night," Lydia interrupts. "What are you two being for Halloween?"

Allison and I share a mutual look of confusion. "Halloween?" the new girl echoes. "Isn't it a little early to start worrying about costumes?"

Lydia looks absolutely appalled by our skepticism. "Early," she scoffs. "Hello, it's only one month away! We need to organize, ladies! We could either dress up in a group, or individually- oh but if we did that then I'd have to make sure our outfits didn't clash..." I couldn't help but smile fondly at Lydia's fretting; suddenly realizing All Hollow's Eve was an occasion she took _very_ seriously.

I open my mouth to make costume suggestions, only for the loud speaker to interrupt. "_Would Maureen Black please report to the principal's office_?"

"What's that all about?" Danny questions in concern as I groan lowly and get to my feet.

"Principal Thorne probably jammed the copy machine… again. For the seventh time this week." I wipe my eyes tiredly before righting my glasses over the tables' amused chuckles. Forget Scott and Stiles, figuring out why I continued with my work study was the real mystery here.

After switching out Principal Thorne's copy machine's empty ink cartridges for a fresh pair, I rushed to Chemistry with a late pass in hand. Mr. Harris moaned on for a few moments about my tardiness but we both knew there was nothing he could do about it. Principal Thorne was his superior, and being as I practically spoon fed the man teachers generally left me alone. The perk nearly made up for all of the menial tasks I had to do during my work study (key word there being _nearly_).

The science course passed slowly, as usual, but Danny kept me entertained with friendly banter. We were really starting to warm up to each other, and I knew it had everything to do with my newfound social life. At the end of the day Danny was popular which meant he followed the hierarchy just as strictly as Lydia. I was a part of their crowd now; meaning I was worth more than just polite conversation.

I spent the entirety of my free period/work study reorganizing the main office's filing cabinet. My intent was to look busy enough that Principal Thorne wouldn't bother me, and it worked to an extent. At the very least I'd gotten to look at my file which was, more or less, empty. (Empty was good, because empty meant no detention slips or suspension papers or any other detrimental intel.)

Overall the school portion of my Friday had gone without a hitch. This left me feeling good about tonight's plans. Then again, what could go wrong during a night in with my mom and grandmother?

XxX

"Those," Mom begins after inhaling deeply, "smell delicious."

"Well of course they do," Nona replies with a haughty toss of her hair. "It's _my_ recipe after all."

"Which was executed beautifully by _me_," I comment pointedly; eager for the credit to be shared. After holding each other's determined gazes for a moment Nona and I broke off into gentle laughter; relishing in our final moment together before she headed back up to Hawkins University.

"How did the meeting go?" Nona questions as my mother pulls her hair out of its elegant bun.

Mom smirks before replying, "Well they weren't pleased when I told them to stuff it but-"

"And that cute negotiator, Jeff Something-Or-Another?" my grandmother interrupts. I chuckle with a shake of my head while bending to extract our now done cookies from the _ping!_ing oven below.

"Jim Strauss," Mom corrects with a widening smirk. "I got his number."

"What about the movies?" I prompt after shaking off my pair of out of season Santa Claus oven mitts. My stomach falls when she palms her forehead with a frustrated groan.

"I-"

"Forgot," I finish with a roll of my eyes; already making me way to the coat rack in preparation.

"Could you-?"

"Breakfast at Tiffany's, Psycho, and Carrie right?" I question; referring to the already decided movie picks by my mother, grandmother, and self respectively.

"And those Swedish Fish candies," Nona grins.

"I'll be back in twenty," I chuckle whilst making my way toward the door. "Don't even think about eating those cookies without me!"

"Too late," my mother calls through a mouthful of chocolate chip treats; making Nona cackle as I shook my head in mocking disappointment. Just another day in the Black household, I suppose.

After dodging Mr. Hendrickson's routine questioning about his trespasser (I was still very adamant about protecting Scott's identity; knowing my neighbor would prosecute the teen for all he's worth) I entered Doris with a relaxed smile. Beacon Hills' mom and pop owned video store was only a few minute drive; nothing too out of the way. While my mother's forgetful nature was irritating it wasn't anything new. Besides, I would get a few minutes to myself before enduring a full night of the Black women's overbearing company. The moments of silence were welcome.

The video store's parking lot was all but empty, although that wasn't very surprising being as there were only fifteen minutes left until the shop closed for the night. I rushed quickly from my minivan to the store; feeling on edge for no apparent reason. Upon arrival I was hit with a foreboding feeling; the kind that set my teeth on edge. I nervously fiddled with my glasses while making my way down the store's _Classics_ isle. "B… b… b…" I mutter under my breath; eyes scanning all around in search of the old school romance.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when the signaling bell rang out from over the entrance's door just as I took hold of Audrey Hepburn's most recognized film. I laughed nervously at my racing heart before turning my heel in search off the store's horror section.

"Hello?" a familiar, distinctly male voice called. "Can somebody help me find _The Notebook_?" If this had been under different circumstances I would have giggled when I identified the newcomer's voice as Jackson Whittemore's. Instead, being as I just came across a nameless employee's mangled body sprawled about the horror isle; I released a blood curdling shriek.

I could feel the victim's still-warm blood seeping into my shoes as I scrambled backward; slipping and sliding in the man's bodily fluids the entire time. My hands blindly reached for the nearest object of support, and I clung onto the ladder at my right like a lifeline. I screamed again; louder this time when a light bulb suddenly fell from the ladder's top platform.

"What the-? Maureen? What are you- _oh my god_! He's dead! Oh my- _stop screaming_!" Jackson took me by the arms and pulled my upper body into his chest; shielding me from the gruesome sight just a few feet away. Bile rose in the back of my throat when my shoes _squished_ loudly; slick from the dead man's blood. Jackson began hustling the both of us toward the exit only to stop short when the lights were suddenly cut out.

I whimpered pathetically when submerged in the darkness. Whatever had killed the video store's employee was still in there, and now it was after us.

"Lydia," Jackson suddenly panicked as he eyes looked out into the parking lot. "I need to get-"

I gasped violently; cutting Jackson's protective rant short. Only an isle away there was this… this _thing_ with luminescent scarlet eyes, thick dark fur, and canine-like qualities looking right at us. Adrenaline kicked in, and I quickly shoved Jackson aside; sending the both of us behind another shelving unit. He must have spotted the creature too because the lacrosse captain didn't breathe so much as a word of complaint.

After motioning him to stay put I peaked out from behind out hiding spot. My breath caught when I found the creature's previous spot unoccupied. Where did it-? My internal question was immediately answered when the animal dashed out from behind one isle and into another; moving so quickly it caused DVDs to fall onto my and Jackson's trembling forms.

One thing's for sure, that was no mountain lion.

_Bang! Crunch! Bang!_ Shelves started falling like dominos; one hitting the other before it until, finally, Jackson and I were trapped. I yelped painfully after landing on my back; shins and ankles pinned as my glasses went sprawling a few feet away. Please don't have landed in the blood, please don't have landed in the blood, _please_-

When the creature hovered above me, it was as if the entire world stopped. Jackson squirmed in fear as one of its claws gently caressed the back of his neck, but I simply laid there; stiff as a board. While its details were blurry I could have sworn it resembled a… a…

"_Even if, by some miracle, you figure out what's going on you wouldn't believe it."_

"Werewolf," I whispered just as the creature bounded away; leaving a panicked Jackson Whittemore in its wake. No. It couldn't be. Werewolves aren't real.

… Right?

Ten minutes later I found myself sitting on a gurney and being checked for injuries. The same had already been done for Jackson who, sans the bump on the back of his head, was completely fine. Blue, red, and white lights burned my already sensitive vision; making me cringe and bow my head instinctively. Because of this I spent the next three minutes assuring the paramedics I was fine. No, I hadn't hit my head. It's just that I have very sensitive eyes, you see. I need my glasses, if you could go find them?

As one emergency response personnel went off to fetch my specs, their counterpart interrogated me about the bodily fluids coating almost every inch of the lower half of my body. I began to answer just as another police cruiser pulled into the semi-circle surrounding _Video 2C_.

"No… none of it's mine," I say while looking helplessly toward Lydia Martin's mass of strawberry blonde curls. She and Jackson had been demanding release since their checkups were done, and that had been fifteen minutes ago now. I wish they would just shut up. My headache was growing worse and worse by the second and their bitching wasn't helping. "I uhm, I slipped in the clerk's- his blood. I slipped in it."

The paramedic gave me a look of pure pity; one I didn't need perfect vision to see. With her shoulders hunched and mouth twisting into a reassuring smile she replied, "The sheriff's here. He'll need to take your statement but then you're free to go, okay?"

"O-kay," I stutter with a jerkish nod. "Whatever they uhm, whatever they need." The paramedic left me in a rush, and I internally sighed in relief. Okay Maureen, you've got to pull it together and come up with a believable lie. If I went around telling police officers the video clerk was murdered by a werewolf I'd be locked away in the Looney bin for sure.

God… _werewolves_. That was Scott and Stiles' big secret. In retrospect it made a ridiculous amount of sense. Lydia's back to school party had take place on a full moon, explaining Scott's freak out, not to mention his newfound aggression. The pieces fit perfectly… and yet I still had trouble accepting it as truth.

"-Miss. Black? Can you hear me? Lindsey I thought you said she was-"

I snapped out of my deep thought with a startled jump; blinking rapidly up at a man I vaguely recognized as Sheriff Stilinski. "I'm fine," I interrupt. "Sorry. I just… it's a lot to take in."

The commanding officer set me with a gentle smile. "I understand," he said before rubbing the back of his neck in apprehension; a habit undoubtedly passed down to his son. "And I'd hate to ask this of you, but that Whittemore kid is causing a stink and I-"

"Need to deal with him first," I finish with a miniscule nod. "It's no problem, Sheriff. I'll wait as long as you need me to."

Mr. Stilinski exhaled a long, relieved puff of breath before questioning, "Are you sure?"

"I'll wait here," I reply. Besides, I couldn't drive myself home without my glasses now could I?

After giving me a thankful pat on the back, Sheriff Stilinski began making his way over to a very irate Jackson Whittemore. After only a moment of sticking around, the medic also left me to my own devices. Soon enough I was the only one left in the corner of the crime scene; feeling a mixture of relief and loneliness.

"Maureen!" called a voice I instantly recognized. "Maureen!"

My head snapped in Stiles' direction as he stumbled over to me; a jittery mess of nerves. "Oh- oh my god. You're covered in blood-"

"It's not mine," I interrupt; not knowing if that makes the situation better or worse.

"Who's is it?" he yelps in response.

As if on cue officers wheel a gurney and body bag past us. Giving the dark bag a pointed look, I respond, "His."

"Oh my god," Stiles repeats as his hands give a wild twitch. "Are you alright? Of course you're not alright- that was a stupid thing to ask. Uhm, uhm… are you hurt? Like, uh- like physically?"

"I've got some scrapes on my elbows and bruising on my legs," I shrug. "But I've had worse."

Stiles' whole body moves as he cringes, "And y'know… mentally?"

I give a hollow laugh before replying, "Well, for someone who just found out werewolves exist, I think I'm doing pretty good."


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary: **Maureen was no one's sister and the closest thing she had to a best friend was her mom. She wouldn't have gotten involved in Beacon Hills' supernatural drama if it wasn't for her knack to notice the things most overlook. It also didn't hurt this mystery was what some could call a "special interest". After all, whenever Stiles Stilinski was involved Maureen couldn't help but pry.

**Rating: **T for Teen

**Pairing: **Stiles/OC (or Miles, as it'll come to be known.)

**Author's Note:** Not much to say about this chapter other than it was a bitch to finish. I hope you all enjoyed. Please leave a review and, as always, check out my social media accounts! Links are on my profile.

**Chapter Eleven**

I watched through calculating eyes as Stiles, quite literally, choked on his own spit. My crush appeared so floored by my big reveal it took him a full minute to get out his response. "What? Did you- did you hit your head or something?" he spluttered; failing miserably to appear casual. "Werewolves? Pfft. They're not-"

"Don't," I interrupt sternly as my frayed nerves were overridden with anger. "Don't you dare look me in the eyes and lie to me. Not about this. Not-not when that _thing_ tried to killed me." While in reality the werewolf hadn't so much as touched a hair on my head, I figured guilt was the best way to go about manipulating Stiles.

It worked like a charm.

He was close enough now that I could (sort of) make out the details of his face, which meant I caught his expression of panic and helplessness. He quickly rubbed at the back of his neck, and he'd done it so roughly I wanted to reach out and stop him. I didn't, though. I couldn't. The intensity of Stiles' gaze froze me without effort; locking me in place. He looked absolutely hopeless, as if his entire world was falling apart around him. It wasn't until that moment did I realize my being in _The Know_ affected more than just me. Stiles had been trying so hard to keep me out of this, trying so hard to keep me safe, and in a blink of an eye all of his work was for naught.

"I won't tell anyone," I whisper. "Not a soul." Did that help? Did that soothe his worries, even a little bit? I wanted to take back this entire conversation. Hell, I wanted to take back this entire night. Anything to get that look of hopelessness off of his face. _Anything._

"I'm not-" he huffs, runs a hand down his face, and straightens his shoulders with a sharp jerk. "I know you won't. That's not what I'm worried about. This- you knowing- it puts you in danger."

"No one needs to know that I know," I reply in a desperate attempt to be helpful. "Just you and Scott."

Stiles sighs and looks up to something just overhead. "And Derek Hale."

"What?" I snap; twisting my head so I could follow his line of sight. My breath caught when I made out two broad-shouldered figures standing atop _Video 2C_. My vision kept me from seeing things clearly, but Stiles' previous statement told me everything I needed to know. Derek Hale was watching. "Is Derek- is he dangerous?" When my companion doesn't answer I turn my eyes on him once more. "Stiles, should I be scared?"

He looks absolutely flabbergasted by the question. "Aren't you already?"

"Stiles!" Sheriff Stilinski suddenly barks; making his son jump a half mile into the air. "I thought I told you-"

"To stay in the car," Stiles finished with a nervous chuckle. "Yes, that is in fact a thing you said, but-"

"It's my fault," I interrupt, surprising even myself. "I just- I was sitting all alone and Stiles saw so he… well, he kept me company." I turned my gaze from father to son and sent my longtime crush a convincing smile. "Thank you." Then I looked back to the slack-jawed sheriff. "I'm sorry," I say. "I didn't mean to get him in trouble."

Mr. Stilinski's demeanor softens at my apology, and he sets me with a gentle smile for the second time. "I shouldn't have left you unattended," he confessed. "It was my fault."

Uncomfortable under both Stilinski men's scrutiny, I clear my throat and question, "Are you ready? To uhm- to take my statement now, I mean."

As it turns out, he was. After sending Stiles away Sheriff Stilinski took down my (almost entirely) fabricated sequence of events, personally called my mother to let her know what had happened, and even waited with me until she and Nona showed up. Luckily by that time the paramedics had retrieved my lost glasses; meaning I was set to go home immediately. As far as the police were concerned this was just another mauling. Jackson, Lydia, and myself all identified the werewolf as a "mountain lion", and so it was.

Mom went out of her freaking mind. She ranted and raved; blaming herself entirely for the whole fiasco. If she had just remembered the movies, this. If she wasn't so forgetful, that. My patience was growing thinner with each passing rant, and I was eternally grateful when Nona took notice. After a full hour and twenty minutes of endearing my mother's craziness I was finally sent to my room with a bottle of water, aspirin, and a half Xanax to "calm my nerves".

I was quick to change from my caked, bloodstained clothes into a pair of fresh pajamas. After bagging the entire outfit (shoes included) I tossed the Hefty out of my bedroom window; feeling irrationally satisfied when it landed perfectly in a bin below. In a rush to get to sleep I hurried through my nightly routine; skin care products, the brushing/flossing of my teeth, and the struggle to pop in my too-small retainer. Once finished I felt rejuvenated and drowsy; a delicious mix that would only get better once my Nona's meds kicked in.

On the short walk back to my bedroom I made two short clicking sounds. "Soupy," I call lightly in search of the overweight Tabby. "Soupy!" I waited momentarily for the cat to show up before giving a discontented shrug. He usually came when called but it was so late the elderly feline may have already fallen asleep in his usual nook.

I reentered my room with a yawn; flipping on my short lamp with one hand as the other closed my bedroom door behind me. I was just about to take off my glasses when the sound of Soupy's low, almost mute hisses registered. I was surprised to find the Tabby standing atop my desk and glowering at something just over my shoulder. A cool breeze suddenly shook my curtains, and my heart nearly stopped at the realization I had left my window open and unattended. That plus Soupy's irate state could only mean one thing: trouble.

"It won't help. Whatever you're reaching for… it won't help."

My fingers curl around the emergency taser jammed between my headboard and wall as my heart flutters in anticipation. "I read somewhere," I begin in a slow, shaking whisper, "that werewolves are very sensitive to electricity." I rounded suddenly on Derek Hale with the quasi-gun cocked and pointed straight for his heart.

The werewolf scoffed cruelly at my means of protection. "That doesn't have nearly enough volt-"

I closed my eyes and squeezed the taser's release; feeling a mixture of euphoria and dread when Derek fell, dead-weight, onto my bedroom floor. He seized for a few seconds, and it wasn't until his clothes began to smoke did I realize my finger was still holding down the gun's trigger. I dropped the weapon with a yelp and stumbled a few steps back. "Oh my god," I panicked. "Oh my god!"

"Maureen?" Nona called worriedly from nowhere too far off.

"I'm fine!" I shout back in a trembling tone. "Soupy just, uh- he knocked over my lamp! Everything's fine!" I rushed to Derek Hale's still form; crouching to peer at his undeniably handsome face. "Please don't be dead," I whisper pleadingly. Reaching out a hand, I repeat, "_Please_ don't be dead!"

Derek releases a low growl and I yelp in surprise; flailing backwards as the werewolf opened his eyes to glare at me. My anxiety grew even more when the usually pale green orbs turned a vivid, icy blue. I knew what that color meant… Maybe dropping that taser wasn't the best idea.

"That would have killed any human," Derek growls whilst getting to his feet.

I nervously chuckle and take a few more steps back. "Well I, uh- I guess it's a good thing you're not human." My eyes darted around the room in search for escape or weaponry. Blue eyes on a werewolf were bad. Very, _very_ bad.

"I'm not here to kill you," Derek suddenly proclaims; effectively catching me off guard.

I meet his intense gaze before asking, "Then why _are_ you here?"

"I know who your grandmother is," he replies. "I know how much she knows… how much _you_ know."

"I know- the only thing I know is theory," I stutter with a quick shake of my head. "Legends-"

"Those books are more than just legends," Derek interrupts with a pointed look at my wall/bookshelf.

"The people who wrote them don't even believe in this stuff. Trust me, I've met them. Every- every single one of them is either a skeptic or nonbeliever."

He sets me with an expression that could either be classified as a smirk or scowl before replying, "But not you."

"No," I whisper. "Not anymore."

"You're smart," Derek compliments. "Or smarter than Scott, at least."

"Well that isn't very hard," I joke, unable to stop myself. I cringe instantly at the slip-up as Derek's brow skyrockets in surprise.

"He needs your help," the werewolf ploughs on; ignoring my outburst altogether.

"Help?" I echo. "I'm only human. One with a strange fascination with the supernatural, yes, but still human."

"Humans have shadows," Derek taunts whilst fiddling idly through one of my Nona's latest gifts.

I stifle a gasp before demanding, "Get out."

My heart seizes uncontrollably when Derek begins to stalk toward me; eying me like a predator would its prey. "There's a reason for it," he smirks. "Why you're so drawn to all of this. Why you were able to put the pieces together. Your kind is a magnet for this sort of thing."

"Don't make me tase you again," I snap as fearful tears well in my eyes.

"You can feel it, can't you?" Derek continues relentlessly. "That you're different from everybody else? You've probably tried to write it off as teenage angst; said to yourself everyone goes through it."

"Stop it," I plea.

"But you know deep down that isn't true. You know there's something off about you… something _supernatural_. I mean," my stomach drops when Derek grabs for the leather bound journal he'd previously been flipping through and opens to its very last page. "How can you deny the truth when it's staring you right in the face?"

My knees buckled under my weight, and I fumbled to catch myself on a nearby bookshelf. Displaced novels fell all around/over me as a panicked cry fell from my lips. Apparently _The Truth_ was a portrait of girl, dated 1513, which looked… well, which looked exactly like me. Tonight seemed to be the night of revelations, didn't it? At the thought, I hit the ground in a dead faint. Soupy's panicked hisses were the last things I heard before slipping into what was supposed to be peaceful black nothingness, but turned out as horrid/gory nightmares in which werewolves and doppelgangers ran rampant.

I had never identified more with the phrase "Ignorance is bliss" until that Tuesday morning. I awoke in an odd position; my limbs strewn around me at strange angles whilst my back and neck were slumped sideways against my over packed bookshelf (or bookshelves, really. There were three identical ones rowed side-by-side to create the storage unit that is my left wall). I didn't know if I should be relieved or insulted by the fact Derek hadn't bothered to move me, and so I cast away the thought altogether. The crick in my neck was more than likely payback, anyway.

I stood with a low moan; cringing at the horrendous taste of my morning breath as I closed and locked my bedroom's bay window. After discarding my glasses I lunged for my bed with a violent shiver. The day's brightness told me it was nearing noon, and I made a note to thank my mother for not sending me into school today. Mr. Thorne was most likely running around campus like a chicken with his head cut off what with tonight's parent-teacher conferences, and I wasn't in the frame of mind to deal with an erratic principal right now. In fact…

My hands reached for Nona's half-pill and lukewarm water bottle before I made the conscious effort to do so, and Soupy _mew_ed unhappily when I sat upward to take the Xanax. While the pill's affect was far from instantaneous the wait was well worth it. My aching muscles soothed and mind turned peaceful; sending me into an easy sleep. I would look into the journal and Scott McCall tonight. Now was the time for rest. God knows I needed it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary: **Maureen was no one's sister and the closest thing she had to a best friend was her mom. She wouldn't have gotten involved in Beacon Hills' supernatural drama if it wasn't for her knack to notice the things most overlook. It also didn't hurt this mystery was what some could call a "special interest". After all, whenever Stiles Stilinski was involved Maureen couldn't help but pry.

**Rating: **T for Teen

**Pairing: **Stiles/OC (or Miles, as it'll come to be known.)

**Author's Note:** So this chapter was A LOT of fun to write. I really enjoyed playing around with Stiles' and Maureen's interaction. I hope you all enjoy and please leave a review once you've finished reading! As always the link to my social media accounts are posted on my profile.

Sending lots of thoughts and love to my bb Teran. Lots of Miles just for you, girl!

**Chapter Twelve**

_Bzzt! Bzzt! Bzzt!_

My hand snapped my phone open with a mind of its own; bringing it to the side of my head on instinct. "Hello?" I slurred through a tired yawn.

"Finally!" someone shouted over the other end; their tone a mixture of relief and irritation. My brow furrowed at the proclamation and I glanced to my phone's screen in search of the caller's ID. When it read _Unknown_ my heart fluttered in panic.

Bringing the cell back up to my ear I nervously question, "Who is this?"

"Stiles," answered the bodiless voice.

"Stiles," I repeat slowly; trying desperately to wake my sluggish mind. "How- how did you get my number?"

"From Lydia's phone," he answers.

I sit up in bed with one sharp movement before snapping, "Why do you have Lydia's phone?"

"I stole it."

"You-" I splutter tiredly whilst getting to my feet. "You stole it?"

"Well," Stiles backtracks, "I prefer to think of it as temporarily-borrowing."

A chime sounded from my end of the phone as I made my way from my bedroom to the bathroom I share with my mother. "Hold- hold on," I stutter. "I'm getting a text."

When the video message marring my screen asked for its download's permission, I hit '_a_c_cept'_ without so much as a second thought. Figuring the phone would chime once everything was complete I refocused my attention on Stiles.

"You temporarily-borrowed Lydia's cell phone without her permission," I summarize skeptically whilst turning on the bathroom sink's tap.

"Yes."

Wetting my toothbrush I question, "How did you even get it?"

"I stopped by her house," he answered. "After school. To, y'know, to see how she was doing."

Irritation and jealously spike at his bashful confession. Unable to stop myself I snap, "So Lydia Martin, a girl who was nowhere near the homicidal werewolf last night, she gets a friendly visit. Meanwhile I, the one who not only found out werewolves exist but was physically hurt by one, _I_ get waken up by a demanding phone call."

"I wasn't being demand-" _Ting!_

"Hold on," I scowl through a mouthful of toothpaste; reeling my cell phone back once more. I nearly choked when last night's werewolf flashed across its screen; scarlet eyes burning straight through the phone as Lydia's scream rang out. My hands shook so violently my phone fell from them; hitting the floor with a violent _crack_! "Oh my god," I whisper shakily after recovering the now-damaged phone. "Stiles, someone just sent me-"

"A video," he finishes. "One from last night."

"Oh my god," I repeat, hysterically this time. "She got one too, didn't she? Lydia, I mean."

"That's why I took her phone," Stiles sighs. "Give me your address, okay? I-I'm coming to get you."

"Why?"

He heaves a longwinded sigh before replying, "I need some help… and something tells me you're the only one who can do it."

"19 Bellecrest Drive," I immediately respond; the prospect of Stiles needing me too tempting to pass up. "Honk when you're outside."

As I hurriedly showered and changed, I couldn't help but feel as if I'd slipped into an alternate universe or, more probably, a coma. My life had turned _Twilight Zone_ so quickly I was half-convinced I'd either develop whiplash or go into shock. I wasn't sure if my knowledge was worth this. The truth, _my_ truth, had turned out to be much more than I bargained for.

I had just finished collecting my favorite lycan mythology books when a horn sounded from outside. I scribbled a quick note to my mother and pinned it to the refrigerator before stumbling into Stiles' Jeep; failing miserably at keeping my books balanced the entire way. "Okay," I panted whilst scattering the small collection of literature across my lap, "these all have the basics when it comes to understanding how lycanthropy works. This one, _Wolf Moon_, it has everything from what triggers a shift to the biological differences between a human and werewolf. It tells you all about the practical uses of their fur and why their eyes change color during the shift; what makes them glow and all of that scientific stuff. These two… well, they're in Latin so I'll have to translate but _boy_ are they-"

"Wow," Stiles interrupts whilst throwing his car into reverse. "That- those are… well those look awesome to be honest." I smile proudly at his heartfelt/fumble praise as he continues, "It's just when I said 'help' I meant something along the lines of tracking cell phones."

"Tracking?" I echo questionably as my shoulders deflate.

Stiles licks his lips nervously before giving his head a sharp nod. "I sat behind you in Computer Programming during grade nine a-and you always got the highest grades so I just thought-"

"I'll try," I cut in before bashfully clearing my throat. "Principal Thorne loses his cell once a week. As long as it's on I should… well maybe not pinpoint, but I can get a pretty accurate location."

Stiles exhaled a deep, relieved sigh before breathing, "You're a genius. A life-saving, level-headed, supernatural-specialized _genius_. I swear once this is done I will answer every freaking question you can come up with."

"Now that's a dangerous promise to make."

When we arrived at the Stilinski's household I nearly wet myself. There was no police cruiser in the drive way which meant Stiles and I would go uninterrupted, most likely in his bedroom, without any form of supervision. I was trembling by the time we got to his room; trying my best to listen to his ramblings whilst taking in the foreign environment surrounding me. It was surprisingly well kept for a teenager's room. While mine was a hazardous wasteland where mythology books and world maps went to die, Stiles' bedroom was… eerily neat. This was most likely due to episodes of his reoccurring OCD. I made a mental note to straighten up my bedroom just in case there ever came a time where he would be in it.

"So how do you know so much about this stuff anyway?" Stiles questioned curiously as I got to downloading/running the safest tracking software I could find.

"What stuff?" I counter. "Werewolves or computers?"

He chuckled slightly before answering, "Both."

"Well my grandmother teaches the folklore and mythology classes at Hawkins University-"

"That craz-eccentric, old woman from The Knothole?"

"Yes," I laugh. "Her names Eleanor, though I call her Nona."

"Nona," Stiles echoed. "That- that's the Italian word for grandma, right?"

"The nickname," I confirm. "My grandfather was a full-blooded Italian; straight off the boat. Hey, what's Scott's number again?" After typing in the recited seven digits I continue, "Anyway she taught me almost everything she knows about the supernatural."

"And the computers?" Stiles prompts without missing a beat.

I smile brightly at the happy thought before answering, "That's all my aunt, Artie. She- well she used to be the most infamous computer hacker in the world. But then, well, then the feds stepped in."

"As they do," Stiles chuckles; apparently unable to stop himself.

I send my crush a mockingly scolding look before going on, "Anyway she did a few years in Federal for outing some prostitute scandal but was let out on good behavior last March."

"Jesus!" Stiles exclaimed with a wide, awe-filled gaze.

"Tell me about it," I sigh with a good-natured roll of my eyes. "But that's Aunt Artie for you."

XxX

"Ma'am, I'm sorry but I cannot release that kind of information without the account holder's signed consent."

I tugged at a lock of my hair and repressed a groan of frustration. Scott's phone was both turned off and password protected; meaning what little hacking skills I had were useless. After getting Scott's service provider's name I called their customer service hotline; giving them a longwinded lie about how my fiancé had forgotten his information and we only had one more try until the phone locked us out for good. I tried to sound convincing and meek; the kind of person someone feels sorry for. Unfortunately I was connected to the only _Virgin Mobile_ who gives a damn about company regulations.

"Listen," I began sternly whilst wracking my brain for some way around this. "I… lied before."

"What?" Stiles hissed after clamping his hand over my cell phone's receiver. I sent him an irritated glare and ripped the phone from his grasp; bringing it to my chest once more.

"He didn't forget his password," I continue.

"Ma'am I'm going to have to disconnect you now-"

"The truth is," I interrupt, "I found a pair of underwear in the back of my fiancé's car last night that aren't mine. He's always texting someone and won't tell me who so I just figured-"

"Say no more, sweetheart," the customer service agent cuts in with a sympathetic hum. "You got an email account? I'm sending the information right over."

"Mblackwood at ," I say whilst commandeering Stiles' laptop; slapping his hands away when he reached out to minimize his sites.

"Did you get it?" the woman questions over the sound of clicking keyboards.

I refresh my email account and shoot a victorious grin Stiles' way. "Thank you so much," I gush whilst opening the file.

"Men are such scum, aren't they?" she questions in response.

"Absolute filth," I agree; trying desperately not to giggle at Stiles' offended expression.

"Thank you for calling Virgin Mobiles' customer service," the worker chirped with giddy professionalism. "Have a nice day."

"I can't believe that worked," Stiles proclaims after cutting the phone's dial tone off.

I let out a low moan before countering, "Y'know what _I _can't believe?" Swiveling the Macbook's console around I continue, "Scott's username and password."

"Allison and Allison," the sheriff's son reads aloud. "How did we not guess that?"

"I'm disturbed that it was even an option," I mumble whilst remotely turning McCall's cellular device on. Once the program ran its course I announced, "I've got his location! Only it's… well, moving."

"Moving?" Stiles echoes whilst pressing his body flush against mine. "Like what, like he's walking?"

"No," I deny after shaking my head to clear it. "The signal wouldn't move that fast if he was only walking. I'd say he's in a car. One that's headed for-"

"The school," Stiles finishes after trailing his index finger across his computer's screen. "For the Parent/Teacher conferences."

I get to my feet quickly and snatch up my previously discarded coat. "Let's go."

"Go," he repeats questioningly. "Go where?"

"To the school," I answer with a light roll of my eyes.

"Why?"

"So you can talk to Scott about the alpha," I reply plainly. "Besides," I then continue whilst slipping into my jacket and entering the Stilinski's upstairs hall, "I think Jackson will be there."

"Jackson," Stiles sneers. "What do you want with him?"

"Keep up, Stiles," I retort defensively as we barrel down his home's staircase. "Me and Lydia both received a video from last night."

"So what; you think Jackson got one too?"

"It's possible," I shrug. "But we need to check to be sure. He's suspicious enough of Scott already."

"Yeah," Stiles agrees with a bob of his head whilst locking up his front door. "But going from steroids to lycanthropy is a pretty big leap, don't you think?"

"I made it."

Stiles grins before teasing, "You're also a huge supernatural nerd."

"I prefer the term '_enthusiast_'," I retort with a light roll of my eyes. "Now c'mon, Batman. Gotham needs you."

Stiles made a strange noise at the back of his throat whilst tripping over his own feet in his rush to open the Jeep's side door for me. My face flushed at the chivalrous gesture, but I was more uncomfortable than flattered. While this evening hadn't gone horribly I still didn't feel completely at ease around him. It was as if my stomach's usual flock of butterflies had morphed into tiny pterodactyls. Not to mention I just referred to him as _Batman._ I needed to get a grip! This was not a fantastical dream, and we weren't role-playing. My reality may have been… altered last night but I needed to control myself! It didn't matter how much I knew now. At the end of the day I was still Maureen and he was still Stiles.

"Listen," he began a few minutes into our drive, "thank you. For, uh, for today. For helping me out."

I clear my throat awkwardly before replying, "It's no big deal, Stiles."

"No," he argues with a furrow of his brow; upset with my dismissal. "It is a big deal. Y'know for the past week I've been trying to push you out of this but-" he chuckled and continued, "But now I'm starting to think I was trying to protect you from something you can handle better than even I can."

"Don't be fooled by my calm demeanor," I half-joke with a wry smile. "I'm totally freaking out on the inside."

He grimaces suddenly and looks to me out of the corner of his eyes. "I'm sorry," Stiles apologized without warning. "I shouldn't have- I should have checked on you too, today."

"It's okay," I reply morosely whilst looking out into the packed school parking lot. "I get it. Lydia, she- she's like this beacon of light you can't see around." While clearing my throat to distract myself from the jealousy welling in my chest, I reach for the passenger side's handle with a shaking fist. "Okay," I said, "you park the car and look for Scott. I'm gonna try to find Jackson."

I was out of the Jeep before his "Wait!" even registered. Yep, still Maureen and Stiles. But hey, at least I can talk to him now without wanting to throw up!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary: **Maureen was no one's sister and the closest thing she had to a best friend was her mom. She wouldn't have gotten involved in Beacon Hills' supernatural drama if it wasn't for her knack to notice the things most overlook. It also didn't hurt this mystery was what some could call a "special interest". After all, whenever Stiles Stilinski was involved Maureen couldn't help but pry.

**Rating: **T for Teen

**Pairing: **Stiles/OC (or Miles, as it'll come to be known.)

**Author's Note: **This chapter kicked my ass and it was mostly a filler. Arg, arg, arg. Hopefully the Miles and Mydia (Maureen and Lydia?) scenes make up for it!

**Chapter Thirteen**

I circled the parking lot six times in search of Jackson Whittemore's Porsche and felt disappointed when it was nowhere to be found. I knew his pride would keep him from coming here in his parents' minivan; even if it was an expensive, foreign brand. In all honesty I hadn't expected him to be here. Hopeful, yes, but I knew it wasn't likely. Jackson wasn't all looks and athleticism. While Lydia made it grotesquely clear very little revising got done during their study dates, I'm positive simply being in such close proximity with the her resulted in some sort of intelligence. Students were only required to be at these things if they had an overall average of a C or lower, and really who would show up to a Parent/Teacher conference if they didn't have to?

Making my way toward the school's main entrance in the hopes of catching sight of Stiles, I raked my fingers through my hair in frustration. Despite the quality time I'd gotten to spend with the sheriff's son, today had been completely unproductive. I hadn't looked into doppelgangers, or Derek Hale, or even cashed in on the questions Stiles promised to answer. The only thing I managed to accomplish was tricking a Virgin Mobile employee into thinking I was Scott McCall's scorned fiancé. Which, while amusing, didn't serve much of a purpose in the grand/supernatural scheme of things.

"Maureen?"

My head instinctively turned at the sound of my name; forcibly plastering a smile on my face. "Hey Mom!" I greet cheerfully in return.

"This is Maureen?" questioned the pretty Latina standing at my mother's left. "Hi," she then greeted whilst extending her hand. "I'm Melissa McCall."

"McCall," I repeat with surprise, "as in, Scott's mom?"

"You know my son?" Melissa questions with wary smile.

"Yes," I nod. "He- he's sort of dating my friend."

"Oh, so you're friends with Allison?"

I chuckle uncomfortably and push my glasses back up the bridge of my nose. "That sounds like an accusation," I reply, only have-joking.

"Excuse me," the posh voice of Mrs. Argent called as she and Allison's father stalked our way. "You're Scott's mother?" I tensed and tried to step away from the couple discreetly as possible. It was my first time seeing Chris since witnessing his and Derek's encounter, and I felt…_ wary_ to say the least.

"Mom," I whispered while taking a hold of her arm, "I-I don't think this is a conversation we want to overhear."

"Now _that_ sounds like an accusation," Melissa chuckles; obviously trying to make light of this terribly, terribly awkward encounter.

Victoria's permanent scowl deepens as she sneers, "Well I certainly hope it didn't come across as a warm greeting. You're son did practically kidnap our daughter after all."

"Yep," Mom murmurs while steering our bodies away from my friends' feuding parents, "definitely not something I want to be anywhere near. Melissa, it was nice to meet you-"

"If anyone kidnapped anyone," Ms. McCall retorts snidely whilst crossing her arms, "it would be the person who has a car."

"Speaking of," I cut in; nodding toward the newly arrived navy-blue _Prius_. Melissa and the Argents immediately swarmed Allison's eco. friendly car like wasps, and I couldn't help but sigh in relief. My mother, thinking Victoria who had been the one to intimidate me, nudged my shoulder with hers.

"That Mrs. Argent seems like a nightmare," she jokes.

"Yeah," I reply distractedly; trying my best to keep Mr. Argent as we walked in my line of sight as we walked. "Completely terrifying."

"So what are you doing here, anyway? Your note said you already turned in for the night."

"Uh," I fumble; looking toward my mother with wide eyes. "I did. I just- you were taking longer to get home than I expected so I got… worried."

Mom's expression softened at the cringe-worthy lie, and my chest swelled when she threw her nearest arm around my shoulders. "Oh sweetie," she cooed, "everything's fine. I have the upmost confidence that there are no cougars in our immediate vicinity."

Loud shrieks nipped my response in the bud. For a moment the entire parking lot was overridden by chaos. My eyes searched for Scott with fear; thinking he had wolfed out amidst his mother's scolding. (Anger_ is_ a trigger, after all.) However instead of a lycan, as I expected, the root of everyone's panic was… a mountain lion?

"You're a jinx," I said through numbed shock after being shoved into my mother's side.

"Not the time, Maureen!"

As my mother cradled me into her chest and pulled the two of us between parked cars, the sound of screeching tires and gunshots filled the air. _Pop! Pop!_ _Screech!_ _Pop! _At the final shot the crowd silenced. Slowly but surely a crowd formed around the groaning/dying creature, and my stomach lurched at the sight of Chris Argent with his gun still poised. Allison's father remained stone-faced as he stared down the mewling feline below; making me shiver with fright. It was funny the way legends distort facts. Even the books my Nona gives me claim silver can kill lycans, when in reality it's the family whose name translates to silver. _Argent… _ How's that for irony? Allison and Scott are the poster children for star-crossed lovers.

"Dad!" someone called in fear; pushing their way through our gathered crowd with frantic ease. "Dad!" When Stiles entered my line of sight I felt as if I'd just been punched in the gut.

"Stiles," I murmured in concern while following after the panicked teen.

"Somebody call 911!" Stiles demanded as he rushed the sheriff's side.

"Mom-" I say whilst looking toward said woman.

"I'm already on it," she interrupts; pointing to the phone attached to her ear as we drew closer. "Yes hello, I'd like to report…"

I tuned out my mother's voice and pushed my way to Stiles' side. My heart pounded loudly in my ears as I lay (what I hoped to be) a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Maureen," Sheriff Stilinski greeted in a pained grunt. "How- how are you doing?"

I smile lightly and retort, "I think I should be the one asking you that."

"That car was barely moving two miles per hour," he replies with a roll of his eyes. "My son here is just-"

"I swear to god, Dad," Stiles interrupts with a quiver in his voice. "If you say I'm overacting-"

"An ambulance should be here in four minutes," Mom proclaims as she too crouches beside the Stilinski men. "The operator said not to move you in case you have any broken bones."

"No moving," the sheriff repeated dryly after pursing his lips in frustration. "Got it."

When the paramedics arrived it had already been decided Stiles would go with his father, I would follow them in the Jeep, and Mom would follow me in Doris. 'Who was it decided by?' you ask. Well my mother of course! After realizing this was _The Stiles_ she jumped at the opportunity to help. I was both mortified and thankful for her uncanny ability to keep level-headed in times of stress. Stiles was beside himself with worry and didn't stop thanking us the entire night. He looked at my mother with such a grateful expression in his eyes it broke my heart. Mrs. Stilinski was a topic no one spoke of, but I could tell she was in the forefront of Stiles' mind as he paced the length of Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital's waiting room.

The sheriff was discharged within the hour of arrival. Sans bruising, Stiles' father was unharmed. No broken, sprained, or splintered bones. He hadn't hit his head, and the car truly hadn't backed up fast enough to cause serious damage. Sheriff Stilinski was ordered to stay in bed for the next twenty-four hours and was given a few muscle relaxers, but other than that he was fine. Still, the good news didn't keep Stiles from worrying over him.

Mom and I looked on to the bickering Stilinski men for a few moments (Stiles was insisting the sheriff be wheeled to the Jeep, and the sheriff obviously refused) before deciding it was time we took our leave. Mom, the fearless woman she is, approached the Stilinski's without caution.

"Well," she said; stuffing her hands into the pockets of her jeans, "it was nice to finally meet you two."

"Thank you for helping us out, Ms. Black," the sheriff nods after extending his hand. "And Maureen," he continued while fixing me with a fatherly smile, "thanks for looking after my son."

"Yes," Stiles cuts in while rolling his eyes with flare, "because I need to be babysat."

Not sure how to respond (to either of them, really) I give a hesitant wave. "Right," I fumble. "I'll see in school, okay?"

"Yeah," Stiles nodded in response before pulling me into an unexpected hug. "Thanks, Reeny."

"Uhm no- not a…" I clear my throat and take a step back in an attempt to clear my head. "Not a problem. See you tomorrow… in school… like I just said. Right. We'll be going now."

XxX

I awoke Thursday morning ready to take on the world. Okay, so maybe yesterday hadn't gone as well as it could have. Stiles father got hit by a car, Scott went MIA, I made zero doppelganger progress, Lydia and I received videos of Tuesday's alpha attack, and Jackson may or may not have gotten the text as well, not to mention the police had lifted our mandatory curfew due to Mr. Argent shooting last night's rabid mountain lion; making everyone think the town was safe when, in reality, there was still a homicidal- Actually, y'know what? Maybe summarizing yesterday's series of unfortunate events wasn't the best idea. What I should be focusing on is the positive. _Positive_ being, for some unknown reason, Stiles Stilinski remembered I did well in Computer Programming.

It was such a strange factoid to sit on. Why on earth did Stiles, _The Stiles_, remember something as trivial as my grades? Was it because he, like Lydia, scanned everyone's test papers once they were handed out? Was it because he was flunking the class and Mr. Sturgis recommended I, his best student, tutor him? Or maybe it was because he didn't find me as invisible as I always thought he did. Maybe… maybe he's been harboring a secret crush on me too! Anything's possible, right?

_Nah._

Whatever the reason, Stiles asking for my help had me walking on clouds. I couldn't even bring myself to complain about my early morning shift. For the most part, things fell back into my usual routine. Mom and I opened up the café, she worked the counter while I brewed, and once the clock hit 7:45 I left for school; coffee and muffin in hand. The only difference was this time instead of one coffee I brought three.

I channeled all of Lydia's influence on me as I approached said queen bee and Allison at their lockers. With my shoulders back and spine straight I flashed them my happiest smile. "Caffeine, anyone?"

"Oh my god," Allison moaned whilst taking one of _The Knothole_'s filled to-go cups. "You're a saint."

"Medium blonde roast with a shot of caramel, mocha, and-?"

"Espresso," I finish with a light roll of my eyes. "It's the one closest to you, Lydia."

My strawberry blonde companion smirks and takes her complicated order with gracious ease. "You really _are_ a saint."

"I just figured after the week we've had we could- we could all use a little pick me up," I shrug.

"Tell me about it," Allison groans while following me to my locker across the way. "Between you two getting that weird stomach virus and last night I-"

"Stomach virus?" I interrupt with surprise.

"Yeah," Allison chirps with a decisive nod. "Lydia told me all about those expired burgers you two picked up after school. Although I must say, I'm a little insulted I wasn't invited."

"Well we couldn't very well plan your birthday surprise right in front of you, now could we?" Lydia retorts with a sardonic grin.

"Besides," I continue; thinking it was best to just go along with Lydia's lie, "karma avenged you. Or, y'know, at least the diner's chop meat."

"On that disgusting note," Allison giggles, "I'll meet you in English. Scott just walked in and I need to apologize for how much of a nightmare my parents were last night. Wish me luck!"

"Good luck," Lydia and I chorus as I exchange Tuesday's books for today's. I'm surprised when Lydia doesn't immediately abandon me for Jackson, but use the loyalty to my advantage. "Food poisoning," I accuse; pursing my lips to fix the blonde with a flat stare.

Lydia rolls her eyes before snapping, "It was the best I could come up with under such short notice. Besides, you should be thanking me."

"Should I?" I counter skeptically solely for the thrill of riling her up.

"Yes," Lydia primly nods while straightening out her spine. "Now neither of us have to talk about that… _incident_ ever again. Sounds like a win-win situation to me."

My expression softened in concern when her voice quivered, and I licked my lips in preparation before questioning, "How are you doing? Y'know, since-"

"Fine," Lydia chirped with a bright, award-winning smile.

"And, uh- and Jackson?" I continue, not believing her for a second but too wary to call her out on it.

"He's fine," she snaps in response. "We're both fine. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to pick up yesterday's work from the main office." It was obvious that wasn't an invitation, and so I nodded mutely with a small grin. "Thanks for the coffee."

"Yeah," I frown at Lydia's back as she struts away; head held high and shoulders pushed back. "No problem."


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary: **Maureen was no one's sister and the closest thing she had to a best friend was her mom. She wouldn't have gotten involved in Beacon Hills' supernatural drama if it wasn't for her knack to notice the things most overlook. It also didn't hurt this mystery was what some could call a "special interest". After all, whenever Stiles Stilinski was involved Maureen couldn't help but pry.

**Rating: **T for Teen

**Pairing: **Stiles/OC (or Miles, as it'll come to be known.)

**Author's Note: **Better late than never, right? I'm so sorry it took me so long to update! Between school starting up, personal problems, and brain-storming for a new fic I didn't have the time to buckle down and get writing. Nevertheless, chapter fourteen is here and it's one of my favorites! A lot of Miles relationship-development/sexual tension to enjoy. Not to mention the small peak you get into the original Blackwood doppelganger's life! Maureen's carbon copy is named in this chapter, and you're given a little piece of her very long back-story. Please leave a review once you've finished reading! As always my fandom/fanfiction tumblr is linked on my profile so be sure to check that out. Happy reading!

*This chapter has been revised. Important things were added that will affect Perch's plot.

**Chapter Fourteen**

My good spirits had turned sour come lunchtime. Not only had Principal Thorne pulled me out of three classes to "make up for yesterday's workload" (which really meant handling the overzealous parents he himself didn't want to deal with) but, for some reason, Stiles was avoiding me. Well, "avoiding" probably wasn't the right phrasing but I didn't know what else to call it. We hadn't spoken all day, which was partially because of Principal Thorne's aforementioned slacking, but mostly because Stiles hadn't _tried_. I thought knowing about Scott's… condition would bring us closer- maybe even to the point of friendship. Obviously that wasn't the case. Stiles hadn't called me yesterday to check up on me; he'd done it because he needed a favor. I felt like an idiot, a walking talking Encyclopedia for him to use when needed and discard when not.

Luckily I had doppelganger research to distract myself with.

"You two are the most boring people I've ever had the misfortune to meet," Lydia haughtily snapped after failing to excite Allison and me with Halloween plans. I looked up from Margret Blackwood's journal (the original Blackwood doppelganger- to my knowledge at least) as Lydia got to her feet; tossing her hair dramatically over her shoulder with a huff.

"Where are you going?" I questioned with a concerned frown; setting down the journal delicately.

Lydia pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes before replying, "Anywhere but here." The strawberry blonde then packed up her things and began to strut away with a huff; leaving Allison and I by our lonesome.

I stared after Lydia for a moment before turning to Allison with wide eyes. "Should we go after her?" I asked uncertainly.

Allison, who was been reading her book waved off my concern with a lax hand. "She'll get over it," she said.

"If you're sure."

We then unanimously turned back to our respective texts. Instantly I was re-submerged in Maggie's story.

I was one-third of the way through. So far the read had been… confusing to say the least. Some entries were ordinary- she'd speak of chores and her parents and a man named Lysander. Others… others left me reeling. She would write about the full moon and how she worried her and Lysander's future children would "share the same fate as their father". Sometimes the parchment was stained with nonsensical things; lists of herbs and Latin phrases I couldn't understand. But this current one seemed different. Much more manic- much more foreboding.

_The spirits are warning me, _it read. _The wind has howled for days now. Our skies remain gray and the crops have begun to die. The Black Woods have never appeared so frightening. Something is coming. I can feel it in the pit of my stomach. At night I dream of a man with yellow eyes and two sets of fangs. He clutches Lysander's heart in his hands as my beloved lies at his feet. "It did not work!" the man screams. I always wake in tears._

"Hey Maureen," Allison interrupted presumptuously; snapping me from Margret's words. "You know that history project that's due next week, the report about our family histories?"

I met her leveled stare and nodded my head a few times in concession. "Yeah," I said. "I-I'm planning on tracing my family back to Scotland, narrating their journey to the Americas. Why, do you need some help?"

She smiled suddenly, giddy with excitement. "I got some last night, actually. From my aunt Kate. She- she told me to search this French legend; La Bete du Gevaudan." A knot formed in the pit of my stomach as her eyes grew wider. "Listen to this," she requested while opening her book to the page she'd just dog-eared. "A quadrant pack of wolf-like monsters, prowling the earth of south Dordogne France during the years seventeen-sixty-four and seventeen-sixty-seven. La Bete killed over one-hundred people, becoming so infamous that King Louis XV sent one of his best hunters to try and kill it. The Vatican church eventually declared it a monster of Satan. Crypto zoologists believe it may have been a subspecies of predator. Others believed it was a powerful sorcerer who could shape shift into a man-eating monster."

"And this legend," I murmured nervously, "it's linked to your family?"

"Get this," Allison grinned; her brow raised with excitement. "It is said that La Bete was finally trapped and killed by a renowned hunter who claimed his wife and four children were the first to fall prey to the creature." With a proud look on her face Allison proclaimed, "His name was Argent."

"Y-you don't say," I stutter. My heart pounds wildly in my ears. She's so close to the truth, so close to finding out who her family really is.

"Cool, right?" Allison questioned. "It's right up your alley. Do you think- I mean, maybe your grandma has some legends like these? Ones linked to my family?"

"Maybe," I say with a bob of my head. "I could- I'll ask her if you'd like."

She smiled brilliantly at the hollow offer. "Would you?"

"Of course," I lie; returning the grin.

"Hey Maureen," she began suddenly; an eager look in her eyes, "Do you have work today?"

"From three to seven," I answered breathlessly, half-certain her quick change of topic gave me whiplash. "Why?"

"My aunt Kate is dying to meet you," Allison gushed in response. "Not to mention she's addicted to caffeine."

"So you'll be stopping by?"

"That's the plan."

As uncomfortable as the idea of meeting another one of Allison's family members makes me, I know I can't say so. Instead I forced a smile and got to my feet; gathering my lunch tray and scraps. At Allison's questioning gaze I say, "I've got to stop by the library before Chem. I'll see you in class, okay?"

In reality I needed to get as far away from her as possible- to clear my head and get a grip on my spiraling emotions. All of these revelations were too much for one day.

"Okay," she echoed as I turned on my heel; letting out a strangled gasp when Stiles Stilinski barreled into me. What was left of my lunch splattered across the front of my shirt; smearing pizza sauce and grease in its wake.

Stiles assessed the damage with wide eyes, and my face flushed when I noticed his stare lingered much longer than it should have on my (thoroughly unimpressive) cleavage. Irritated with him altogether I shoved my tray into his hands and turned my heel; stomping out of the cafeteria with pursed lips. Between him using me, ignoring me, and_ this_ I was half-ready to abandon my crush altogether. Maybe Becca was right. Maybe I should just give up on him. It was obvious from the way Stiles continued to drool after Lydia he only had eyes for her. It was hopeless. Even with my newfound "popularity" I was invisible to him, just like I've always been.

"Maureen!" Stiles called; following me into the hall with desperation in his tone. I continued my strides and ignored him pointedly before ducking into the girl's bathroom. Desperate to try and rinse the stains out before they settled I slipped out of my dress shirt and turned the cleanest sink's tap on; muttering grudgingly under my breath as I dapped my camisole's sauce marks with a dampened wad of paper towels.

When the door creaked open, I turned to the new arrival with wide eyes. Stiles gaped momentarily at my state of dress before floundering towards me on clumsy legs. "I'm so sorry," he apologized.

"Y-you can't be in here," I stutter, completely flustered by the sincerity in his tone.

"I know," he nods. "I just- I'm sorry for…," Stiles pauses briefly and glances at my chest once more before continuing, "ruining your shirt."

"It's fine," I say; feeling very encouraged by his obvious attraction.

"No," Stiles denies with a shake of his head. "It- it isn't. Not really. I've been ignoring you all day and I still haven't thanked you for last night _or _answered any of your questions like I promised and-" My heart swells at his apology, and as he continues to ramble I warm all over; forgiving Stiles before he's even finished speaking. "-and now I ruined your shirt!"

"You'll make it up to me," I assure him having already worked out a way to use his desperation to my advantage.

"How?"

I finish rinsing the stain out of my shirt, and turn to Stiles with a smirk. "Well," I say, "you can start by telling me why Scott's been avoiding Allison all day."

Stiles tells me about Scott's need for control. How he went to Derek who, upon promising to mentor him, told Scott his feelings for Allison were a distraction. According to Derek Scott could only keep everyone safe if he cut Allison out of his life. I protested loudly to this, and ranted for the remainder of seventh block over how biased Derek seemed. If Scott had feelings for a regular girl, one without ties to hunters, then Derek wouldn't be acting this way. Stiles agreed wholeheartedly, but I could tell he would rally behind anything anti-Derek Hale. As I dried my shirt (using the bathroom's new, remarkably handy heated dryers) Stiles told me he planned on training Scott himself before Derek could.

Naturally, I volunteered to help. Although that was mostly because Stiles spoke of Scott with such negative connotations it was clear he blamed the werewolf for what had happened last night.

"That book you leant me, _Wolf Moon_, it uh- it," Stiles paused as I slipped back into my still dampened top, and I set him with a flat stare as he cleared his throat; cheeks reddening the entire time. I tried to come across as irritated, but I was so thrilled _he_ was the one flustered I only managed to keep the smile off of my face. How could I have been so ready to give up just twenty minutes ago? "It said something about anger triggering the shift."

"Yes," I nod while we, discreetly as possible, exit the girl's room in search of Scott. "Anger causes the… _person'_s heart rate to raise which-"

"Makes them wolf out," Stiles finishes.

I grin with amusement but find myself nodding once more. "Right."

"So I was thinking I could temporarily-borrow Coach Finstock's heart monitor, use it on Scott, get him really angry, and when his heartbeat starts to get faster-"

"Calm him down before he has the chance to shift!" I finish; wide-eyed by his genius idea.

"So you think it'll work?" Stiles questioned with a wide, prideful grin.

"I think it's worth a shot," I reply; not wanting to get his hopes up in case things went awry. "But how do you plan on getting the Coach's monitor?"

Stiles cringed at the question before countering, "How good are you with distractions?"

"Stiles," I sigh disapprovingly with a shake of my head; not thrilled with the idea of helping him steal from one of our teachers but knowing I would agree regardless. "Okay," I said after rubbing my eyes tiredly. "Okay. First thing's first. Go find Scott before he gets to Chem. I'll forge us early release passes and-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Stiles interrupts with widened, alarmed eyes. "Forgery?"

"Calm down," I soothe as we turn the hall's corner. "I sign Principal Thorne's name better than he does." At my admission Stiles halted altogether. I immediately did the same; concerned that I had revealed more of my… _devious_ side than I should have. With a nervous lick of my lips I questioned, "Stiles?" in a voice so soft I'm surprised he heard it.

He was quick to snap out of his stupor, and I found myself fidgeting under his scrutinizing gaze. "You're different than I thought you were," he said after an infinite moment of silence.

I felt myself blink owlishly in surprise before confessing, "I'm different than I thought I was, too. Go get Scott. I'll find you with the passes." With those parting words, we went our separate ways.

Slipping into the main office was easy. The hired secretary was most likely fornicating with our daytime janitor or gossiping with the lunch ladies, which meant three early-release slips were written, "signed", and documented in no time. I could overhear Principal Thorne's latest dispute with his wife ten feet away from his office's closed door, and from the sound of it this one was a doozy. It was unfortunate for their marital status but very beneficial for me. He wouldn't notice if I didn't show up today which meant I wouldn't need to make up the workload come Monday. So far, everything was smooth sailing.

My phone buzzed wildly from the bottom of my purse as I re-entered the school's main corridor, and after rummaging through various school supplies and gum wrappers my eyes eagerly scanned Stiles' latest text. "_Scott's waiting for us on the lax field. How bout that distraction? Coach is in his office." _I told him to give me five minutes and to be ready to grab the monitor as soon as I got Coach out of the room.

On my speed-walk over to Finstock's office, I brainstormed on how to get the coach to forgo the only free period he had. The only thing that came to mind was lacrosse, but we would be using the field for Scott's "training". That left me with only one option… Coach Finstock's hatred for Greenburg.

Once situated directly in front of the Gym/Economics teacher's door, I motioned for Stiles to hide behind the nearest trashcan and keep quiet. He did so with a furrow of his brow; obviously confused when I didn't enter the office right away. After inhaling a deep, bracing breath I threw myself to the floor with a faux-scream of outrage. I forcibly slammed my binders and textbooks against the school's tile floors; feeling victorious when papers slid a few yards down the hall. Stiles' eyes widened as his jaw dropped. My focus on his horror was cut short when Coach Finstock emerged from the office before me with a livid expression coating his features.

"What the hell is going on?" he demands.

I force tears into my eyes and push myself into a seated position with trembling arms. "I-I don't know what happened," I sniffled; sounding as pathetic as I could. As the faculty member rushed to my aid, Stiles slipped into his office without a sound. "One second I was on my way to class a-and the next he shoved me to the ground and… and ran off!"

I felt thoroughly accomplished when he questioned, "Who?"

"G-Greenburg!" I wail.

His expression turned dark just at the student's name. "Which way did he go?" I pointed toward the math wing and, like a bat out of hell, Coach Finstock was off. "I got you now, Greenburg!"

Not a moment later Stiles was out of Finstock's office and helping me to my feet. "You're an evil genius," he gushed.

I flushed deeply, a side effect from adrenaline and our close proximity, before suggesting, "Let- let's just get out of here before he comes back."

I watched as Stiles swooped down and gathered all of my things in one go. "Couldn't agree more," he chirped after grabbing me by the hand and tugging me toward the nearest exit.

A thought passed through my mind as he dragged me off toward the lacrosse field, and despite how briefly I mulled over it my heart still raced. We could be together, I mused. Anyone passing by would think so. Stiles was holding my books, my hand, leading me away from the school with a grin on his face. An outsider would think so while I- well, I could only hope.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary: **Maureen was no one's sister and the closest thing she had to a best friend was her mom. She wouldn't have gotten involved in Beacon Hills' supernatural drama if it wasn't for her knack to notice the things most overlook. It also didn't hurt this mystery was what some could call a "special interest". After all, whenever Stiles Stilinski was involved Maureen couldn't help but pry.

**Rating: **T for Teen

**Pairing: **Stiles/OC (or Miles, as it'll come to be known.)

**Author's Note: **Probably my favorite chapter yet. Leave a review once you're finished reading and, as always, my fandom/fanfiction tumblr will be linked on my profile. Oh, and please check out my new Teen Wolf story _Flicker_!

**Chapter Fifteen**

When Scott caught sight of me and Stiles, his brow furrowed. "Maureen," he said, "what are you doing here?"

Stiles dropped my hand and went toward the duffle bag by Scott's feet. "She's here to help," Stiles replied.

I smiled reassuringly as Scott glanced between me and his best friend uncertainly. "Are you sure that's a good idea?" Scott asked with a deep frown.

My smile dropped immediately as red hot mortifications made my cheeks flush. "I'll go," I volunteer while fiddling with the bridge of my glasses. "I-I shouldn't be here, anyway," I then chuckle uncomfortably with a shake of my head.

"She's staying," Stiles demanded while sending a glare Scott's way. "Maureen's helped with your furry little problem more than _you_ have, okay? And she's known for less than a week."

"I-I wouldn't call lending you books 'helping'-" I protest.

"She stays," my crush interrupts after getting to his feet. "Now put this on." I watched as Stiles handed Scott the monitor we had just stolen, and I couldn't help but swell with pride.

"Isn't this one of the heart rate monitors for the track team?" Scott questioned; inspecting it closely.

"Yeah," Stiles replied. "I borrowed it."

"You stole it," Scott accused as a smile played at the corners of his mouth.

"Temporarily misappropriated, actually," I interject while sending a playful look Stiles' way.

He returned the grin before facing Scott once more. "Coach Finstock uses it to monitor his heart rate with his phone while he jogs. You're going to wear it for the rest of the day." Stiles then pulled out an old model of cell phones; fiddling with it as his tongue poked out the side of his mouth.

"Wait a second," I frown, "you stole Finstock's phone, too?"

"Temporarily misappropriated," he corrects cheekily. I roll my eyes and bite my cheeks to keep from smiling.

"Why?" Scott demands after sending me a questioning glance.

"Well your heart rate doubles when you go wolf, right?" At Scott's nod Stiles continued, "When you're playing lacrosse, when you're with Allison, or whenever you get angry your pulse rises. We think learning to control it is connected to learning to control your heart rate."

"It's the most common theory for lycanthropy enthusiasts," I chirp in a desperate attempt to be helpful.

"So I'm like the Hulk?" Scott questioned with a goofy smile.

Stiles pulled a thoroughly unimpressed face before replying, "Yes, Scott. Kind of like the Incredible Hulk."

Scott's smile grew wider. "I'm the Incredible Hulk," he boasted as Stiles' expression twisted into an irritated scowl. From the sour look on his face, I knew Stiles' response would be less than friendly.

"Why-why don't you put the strap on, Scott?" I interject while taking the monitor from Scott's hand and motioning for his arm.

As Stiles turned his attention back to his duffle bag, Scott set me with a skeptical look. "Doesn't it freak you out?" he asked as I tightened the heart monitor's strap to fit his bicep. "Being so close to me when you know what I am?"

I tried to ignore the way Stiles' stilled and angled his head conspicuously in our direction. "I know _who_ you are, Scott," I all-but whisper while continuing to tighten the monitor's strap. "I wasn't afraid of you before, and I'm not afraid of you now."

"Y'know," Scott grinned after releasing a long exhale of relief, "I'm starting to think there's not many things you're scared of."

"Spiders, the reserve at night, and the word 'moist'," I laugh; stepping back to pat Scott reassuringly on the chest. "You're good to go."

"Not yet," Stiles smirked after producing a shiny roll of duct tape. Scott and I looked to each other with grim expressions as a single thought passed through our minds. _This wouldn't be good…_

Once Stiles finished taping Scott's hands behind his back, I hid my giggles in the collar of my sweater. "This isn't exactly how I pictured this going," Scott complained.

Stiles ignored him pointedly before passing me Coach Finstock's cell phone. The air was brisk enough that the flushing of my cheeks could be written off when our fingers brushed, and I couldn't have been more grateful. Stiles nodded reassuringly to me before swooping down for his lacrosse stick and sports bag.

"You ready?" he questioned after walking a few ways off.

"No," Scott sighed; turning to face him regardless.

"Remember," Stiles began as I opened Coach Finstock's monitoring app, "don't get angry." He then proceeded to shoot a lacrosse ball straight into Scott's gut; making the werewolf double over in pain.

"One-fifteen," I read aloud after glances to the phone's reading; fidgeting from my perch on the nearest bench.

Stiles repeated his previous assault. This time Scott was hit straight in the nose. I winced in compassion as he groaned painfully. It hadn't changed.

"Okay," Scott grunted while standing up straight, "that one kind of hurt."

"Quiet," Stiles dismissed. "You're supposed to be focusing on your heart rate, alright? About staying calm."

"Staying calm," Scott echoed after dodging a lacrosse ball. He bounced on the spot and repeated, "Staying calm. Staying calm and pretending balls aren't flying at my face- _oof_! Ow, son of a _bitch_!" I buried my face in my hands in an attempt not to laugh at Scott's plight before peaking back out; unable to resist.

Stiles grinned as he cradled the lacrosse stick with ease. "Y'know what? I think my aim is actually improving."

"I wonder why," Scott bitterly mused while bracing himself for another attack.

The phone in my hand chimed repeatedly, and I felt my heart leap into my chest. 130. "Calm down, Scott," I called out worriedly after fiddling with my glasses once more. "Don't get angry."

Stiles pelted his best friend seven more times before Scott called for a time out. "Stop!" he pleaded only for Stiles to propel a ball right into his… well, balls.

As Scott went down, I shot up. "Stiles! I scolded as Finstock's phone chimed wildly. The apps numbers increased rapidly; going from 130 to 164 in an instant. Stiles went to go to his best friend's aid, but I took hold of his arm and pushed him behind me. Scott tore through his bindings with ease; making me jump in fright.

"Scott?" Stiles questioned after trying (but failing) to get around me.

Scott clawed at the ground as he grunted/groaned in pain. He was trying desperately to keep a hold on his emotions, and after a tense moment his heart rate started to slow down. 163… 162… Now that I was distracted with Coach Finstock's phone, Stiles took it as the go-ahead to approach Scott.

"Scott," he said whilst crouching down beside his friend, "you started to change."

"It was anger," the werewolf panted in response. "But it was more than that. It… it was like-"

"The angrier you got, the stronger you felt," I finish grimly; taking both teens by surprise.

"Yeah," Scott nods. "Exactly."

"So it _is_ anger, then," Stiles assessed. "So Derek's right."

Scott released a few more pants before proclaiming, "I can't be around Allison."

"Just because she makes you happy?" Stiles questioned in surprise.

Scott's expression turned somber as he met Stiles' gaze. "Because she makes me weak," he corrected; making me scowl in anger.

"That," I interject while tossing Finstock's phone in Stiles' direction, "is the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

The tremor in my tone seemed to have caught their attention, and Stiles turned to me with a look of compassion. "Maureen-"

"No," I say with a shake of my head. "Excuse me for saying this Scott, but that may very well be the most ridiculous thing ever said."

"Maureen-"

"_No_," I repeat; cutting off Stiles once more. "You two can't honestly believe Allison makes him weak, can you? Love doesn't make you weak, it makes you strong. It-it gives you something to fight for."

Their expressions remained grave, and I could tell from the look in their eyes neither one believed me.

"Right," I say before clearing my throat and crossing my arms. "I'll be going now. Glad I could help." With that I stormed away; accidentally charging straight into- "Jackson? Oh my god, are you alright?"

My eyes widened when they took in his sickly appearance; the paleness to his complexion, his glassy eyes, and the sweat dotting his forehead. My hands steadied him instinctually as he swayed before recoiling when he pushed me away.

"I'm fine," he growled before storming off; heading for the boys' locker rooms. I watched him go with a frown on my face before texting Lydia I had just ran into her boyfriend and that he seemed sick. The class bell shrilled loudly from the school; echoing across the parking lot as I made my way to Doris. Blaine was managing the café today, and he wouldn't tell my mom I was skipping school if I asked him not to. I didn't see the point in hanging around school and wouldn't risk going home on the off-chance Mom hadn't left to pick up Aunt Artie from the airport yet. Not to mention a salted-caramel hot chocolate sounded _perfect_ right now.

XxX

By the time Allison and her aunt Kate showed up, Nina had already called in to ask if I could cover her shift for the night. It meant I wouldn't clock out until 10:30 (not counting the after-hours clean up that needed to be done) and I would have to endure three and a half more hours of Blaine's advances, but I'd agreed regardless. It wasn't a school night and I owed her for my spotty punctuality. Not only that, but it gave me a good excuse when Allison invited me out.

"Scott, Lydia, Jackson, and me were planning on going to the movies tonight," she chirped after taking a sip of the macchiato I'd whipped up. "I was wondering if you wanted to come."

"Well as much fun as being a fifth wheel sounds," I joke while wiping down the counter beside Allison's aunt Kate, "I have to cover a shift tonight. I won't be out until 11… probably later, actually."

"Mmm!" Kate Argent suddenly moans with delight; making me jump so violently my elbow knocks straight into the steaming nozzle at my right. I hiss as she exclaims, "This is the best coffee I've ever had!"

"I'm… glad you like it," I reply through a forced smile; rubbing at my bruising funny bone in an attempt to take away its pain. I turned away from the woman with a deep scowl to fiddle with the chalkboard mounted on The Knothole's back wall.

I liked Kate about as much as I thought I would. That is to say, not at all. While Allison was convinced she and my Nona had identical personalities, I had the opposite feeling. They may both be loud, fanatical women with a strong sense of entitlement and charm but… well…

They're just _different_, okay?

"You're sure you can't come?" Allison pouts as I turn to face them once more.

"Positive," I frown. "Sorry."

"We best be going," Kate proclaims as she rises to her feet; taking her to-go cup with her.

"It was nice to meet you," I politely grin.

Kate takes another sip of her drink before beaming, "You too, Specs." (She'd taken to calling me 'Specs' after commenting on how 'precious' I look in my Nona's glasses.) "I'll be in soon for another cup of Joe. I've never tasted coffee this good!"

"Have a nice night," I dismiss as cheerfully as I can; hugging Allison over the counter as comfortably as possible.

The clock read 6:53 and, sans Erica Reyes (a girl in my grade who spends nearly as much time in here as I do), the café was empty. With no one to serve and Blaine on his twenty-minute break, I took hold of my favorite old-fashioned broom and began making some rounds. Hopefully cleaning now would save me some time once closing came.

Fifteen minutes in, the entrance's bell chimed delicately; signaling the arrival of either Blaine or a new costumer. I faced the door eagerly (secretly hoping for the latter) only for my jaw to drop at the sight before me. I let my broom fall to the floor with a loud _clang_ before sprinting into my aunt's awaiting arms.

"Artie!" I squealed before pulling away; eyes glancing over her shoulder in search of her older sister. "Where's Mom?"

"She dropped me off," she sighed while making her way toward the café's stools, "thank god. I'd rather be back in prison than hear her go on about Mom's _condition_."

"She-she's just trying to prepare you," I say; already going to brew the drink I know she'll order. "Things are… different than they were when you left. Worse."

"Tell me about it," Aunt Artie grins; leaning forward with an excited look in her eyes. "I read all about Beacon Hills' string of animal attacks. One of them happened at your school, didn't it? Some bus driver got his jugular ripped out or something. Did you see the crime scene?" I roll my eyes at her fascination but answer her questions regardless. We had both inherited Nona's morbid fascination and I wasn't about to deprive her of knowledge. Besides, answering her questions meant she would owe me.

I rattled off about the crime scene- how the news footage didn't do it any justice. Once Erica left I even went into detail about the night Jackson and I were attacked at Video 2C. I hadn't spoken about it, and I felt the more comfortable talking to Artie than I did anyone else. She was my youngest aunt and the closest thing I had to a cousin. Back when Aunt Artie still lived with Nona she babysat me constantly, but never made me feel like a kid or some chore she had to do. Artie had been my first friend in a way, and despite how hard it was to keep in touch when she was in Federal we still remained close.

We rattled on and on until 10:30 came. Blaine had volunteered to close up shop being as there wasn't much left to do, and Aunt Artie forced me into agreeing. On the drive home we delved into much more "normal" topics; her girlfriend, my progress with Stiles, and the back-packing trip she'd just taken around Europe. We were in the middle of laughing when a familiar car whipped by. A Camaro… Derek's Camaro. Its speed even caused Aunt Artie to comment, and I found myself half-heartedly agreeing with whatever complaint she'd made.

Something about seeing Derek's car put me on edge. I tried convincing myself it was all in my head as I showered, changed, and got ready for bed. My feet were aching, eyes stinging, and it was the perfect night to curl up with a book and get to researching… but every time I blinked the Camaro's headlights were shining in the back of my eyelids. My worry had gotten so bad I couldn't even focus on Margaret's journal!

When my phone lit up with Stiles' contact information, I answered it without thought. "Hello?" I asked; my voice pitched with worry.

"Maureen," he gasped over the line. "Thank god."

"Did she answer?" someone hissed.

I recognized the voice as Allison's. "Was that Allison?"

"Maureen, listen to me," Stiles demanded in a tone filled with dread. "I-I'm trapped at the school with Scott, Allison, Lydia, and Jackson."

"Trapped?" I echo. "What do you mean, trapped?"

"Derek," Stiles gasped, "he-he locked us in here. The janitor is dead. Listen, Maureen you have to go down to the police station, okay? You- you have to tell my dad what's going on."

There was a tremor in his tone that had me flying to my feet. "I'm on my way," I tell him; running down my house's stairs without bothering to slip into shoes.

I didn't question why he hadn't called the police himself- I knew something was preventing him from doing so. He wasn't stupid; he wouldn't have called me first even if this _was_ a werewolf situation.

"I-I'm getting into my car now, okay?"

Stiles sighs in relief. "Thank you," he breathes.

"Just-just stay on the phone with me," I plea. "Don't hang up, Stiles. Stay on the phone with me." I don't ask him to tell me what happened. He won't be able to tell me the truth in front of the others.

"You have to hurry," Stiles demands in a choked tone. "Scott ran off by himself to confront… Derek." The way he hesitated on Derek's name told me it wasn't really him. Not to mention when Aunt Artie and I had caught sight of the Camaro it had been moving _away_ from the school rather than toward it.

I swallow the lump gathering in my throat whilst making a sharp left turn. Doris groaned in protest when I pushed harder on her gas pedal. "It-it'll be okay," I assure Stiles gently. "Scott can take care of himself. What about you guys? How-how are you doing?"

Stiles chuckled bitterly at the question. "Well despite being holed-up in Mr. Harris' classroom with Jackass over here, fine I guess."

"You're in the Chemistry lab?" I ask once braking jerkily in front of the first precinct's doors. When Stiles doesn't answer I question, "Hello? Stiles?" I pull the phone away from my ear only to see the words _Connection Lost_ dotting its screen. Bile rose to the back of my throat, and I tore into the police station like a bat out of hell. Running past the receptionist I yell, "Sheriff! Sheriff, help!" I throw myself into his office without care. Stiles' father looked surprisingly alert for such a late hour, though that could just be the shock of a sixteen year old girl barging into his office; sporting Batman themed pajamas and no shoes.

"Maureen," he greeted in concern whilst rising to his feet. "What's wrong?"

I hadn't realized I was crying until a hot tear dripped onto my hand. "It's Stiles," I choke. "He's in trouble. Some-someone's got him trapped in the school a-and the janitor's dead and he called me but then we got disconnected and-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Sheriff Stilinski interrupts while grasping me by my quivering shoulders. "He's trapped in the school?" At my nod he grabs for radio sitting atop his desk. "All units report to 17 Beacon Road. I repeat, all units to 17 Beacon." He dropped the mouthpiece and turned back to me; determination a fear in his eyes. "You'll ride with me."


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary: **Maureen was no one's sister and the closest thing she had to a best friend was her mom. She wouldn't have gotten involved in Beacon Hills' supernatural drama if it wasn't for her knack to notice the things most overlook. It also didn't hurt this mystery was what some could call a "special interest". After all, whenever Stiles Stilinski was involved Maureen couldn't help but pry.

**Rating: **T for Teen

**Pairing: **Stiles/OC (or Miles, as it'll come to be known.)

**Author's Note: **And so the crossover with Bits of Sunshine begins. Or sort of. The crossover that happens below goes on off screen in Teran's story, but these little scenes are the beginning. I hope you all enjoy the Miles-y goodness in this chapter! Please leave a review once you're finished reading and, as always, check out my fandom/fanfiction tumblr. The link is on my profile and hey, while you're there check out my new Teen Wolf story Flicker!

**Chapter Sixteen**

"You're preening awfully hard for a girl who'll be staying inside all day."

I tousled my freshly washed hair and fixed Aunt Artie with a flat look. "I'm not preening," I say. "I… It's just that I made such an ass out of myself Friday night-"

"Having evenly distributed mascara is the only way to make up for it?" she finished with a teasing grin. "C'mon Mo, I'm sure it wasn't as bad as you think."

_It took the Beacon Hills Police Department seven minutes and twenty-nine seconds to get Stiles, Allison, Scott, Lydia, and Jackson out of the school. Not that I was counting. By that time four ambulances had arrived along with the entirety of this town's on duty officer. Not to mention, from the sound of it, a fire truck was on its way. For a moment I worried what would happen if another emergency took place. Beacon Hills was a small town; we barely had enough man power for this let alone something else. The concern was quickly pushed to the back of my mind when Sheriff Stilinski emerged from the school; his son and friends in tow._

"I was barefoot," I reply shortly after snapping back to the present. "Barefoot, crying, and wearing the Batman pajama set you bought me for my thirteenth birthday."

Artie's brow rose as she questioned, "That still fits?"

"No!" I exclaim while falling into the loveseat face-first; releasing a mortified groan on the way down. "That's the problem!"

"Maybe you should throw on a coat of lip-gloss," Artie giggles from behind her hand. "Just for good measure."

"You're not funny," I sigh whilst getting to my feet; eyes scanning the living room in search of the books I'd taken out last night. "Have you seen-?" my question was interrupted by the sound of our doorbell ringing, and my entire body momentarily froze with terror. "He-he's early," I stuttered.

My hands began to quiver as I made my way over to the front door; glancing over my shoulder to Aunt Artie for support. She gave me dual thumbs-ups, smile attached, before I opened my front door with a shy smile.

"Stiles," I greeted; moving aside to let him in.

"Hey," he replied with a nervous lick of his lips. "I-I'm sorry I'm early. I-"

"Don't uh, don't worry about it," I interrupted. "The sooner we get started the sooner we can… we can figure this thing out, right?"

Friday, after the chaos died down, Stiles and I had agreed two heads were better than one. While he was versed in online forums I knew old texts like the back of my hand. We had our niches; mine old school and his new. We figured putting our minds together could give us some sort of insight about the alpha, which would (hopefully) prevent a repeat of Friday night- Batman pajamas and all.

"I find your dedication to your MMORPG inspiring," Aunt Artie chirped while emerging from the kitchen, a spoonful of Nutella and matching jar in hand.

Stiles flailed wildly at her sudden appearance, and I couldn't help but giggle at the wide-eyed expression on his face. Closing the front door I introduced, "Stiles this is my aunt, Artie. Artie, this is my- I mean this is Stiles. My friend. Stiles."

It looked like my chronic case of Foot In Mouth disease had come back, and with a vengeance. Wonderful.

Cringing, I fiddled with the umbrella stand beside my front door. As Aunt Artie interrogated Stiles about our "quest", I pulled at the fraying strings of my Minnie Mouse umbrella idly. Over the years it had turned a shade that looked gray in some lightings but yellow in others, but regardless of its tattered state playing with the polyester ruffles, the way I did when I was young and just as anxious, made me feel… calm. Or not so much calm as it did safe. Because that's what umbrellas are for, aren't they? To protect you from the rain; to keep you sheltered and dry? Like-

_Splat!_

I pursed my lips in silent fury; reaching up to wipe the cocoa off of my cheek as I sent a cool look my aunt's way. Stiles stood beside her, completely horrified, while she merely grinned. "See?" Artie prompted; smirking Stiles' way. "I told you it'd get her attention." Turning to face me she said, "You zoned out."

"And throwing condiments was obviously the only viable option," I retorted ruefully with a roll of my eyes; licking my Nutella coated thumb as punctuation.

"Obviously," Artie echoed with a wicked smile as she turned her back on us to scour the kitchen for snacks once more.

I shot her a scolding look before turning to Stiles with an expecting grin, only to frown when I noticed his eyes were focused on my mouth instead of my eyes. "Stiles?" I questioned.

He licked his lips. "You uh, you have-have a little…" my knees turned to rubber when he reached out suddenly and swiped off a miniscule amount of cocoa off of my bottom lip; right below my cupid's bow.

"Thanks," I managed to choke out while avoiding his eyes at all cost. "Let-let's get started. Uhm, uh- did you bring your laptop?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed in a cracking voice reminiscent of middle school. "Yes," Stiles then repeated after clearing his throat and deepening his tone.

While I located my stack of mythological based literature (which my mother had tucked beneath the sofa- her usual hiding place) Stiles began to set up his Macbook Something on the coffee table. The laptop whirred to life as I hesitantly took a seat beside its owner; curling one of my textbooks to my chest.

"So first thing's first," I began, "we need to determine what kind of lycaon this… RPG'er is."

"Kind?" Stiles echoed with a raise of his brow. "Like- like species?"

"Subspecies, really," I corrected with a bob of my head. "Scott- Scott's _character_- is the more… commonly documented werewolf, but that doesn't mean it's the only kind out there." I opened my text to the diagram section before offering it to Stiles. "Which do you think the alpha looked most like?"

My choice was the bottom left diagram on page one hundred and seven, but being as my glasses were MIA during my last encounter with the alpha I wanted to be 100% sure what we were dealing with.

"This one," he declared; pointing to his choice with confidence. It was the same sketch I'd been eyeing, and with a nod I turned to its corresponding chapter.

"Okay," I said. "That's good. He- the uhm, the character- he can't fully shift into a wolf-"

"Some can actually do that?" Stiles interrupted with wide eyes.

"In uh, in theory," I nodded before giving my hand a dismissive wave. "Anyway, this is good news. If-if he can't fully transform that means there's definitely human consciousness."

Stiles ducked his head after giving the kitchen a spare glance. Aunt Artie was so busy fixing herself a sandwich and humming along to her iDock she wouldn't hear a thing. "So what," he prompted, "you- you think these aren't random killings?"

"He's choosing his victims," I replied in a voice just as hushed. "There's a reason why he didn't kill me or Jackson that night at the video store. There- there _has_ to be a reason, right?" At Stiles' nod I continued, "He didn't need us dead. He's got to have some sort of motive; something he's trying to gain."

"Like what?" Stiles frowned. "What do Laura Hale, that bus driver, and the janitor have in common?"

"I-I don't know," I stuttered; tugging at the ends of my hair in frustration. "But I'm going to find out." And I would, because Friday night the alpha had given me the motivation to move mountains. He had put Stiles in danger. _Stiles_ in danger. I would rip this entire town apart if I needed to. I would hand the Argents the alpha's head on a silver plate; apple stuffed into its mouth with decorative trimmings.

When I was young, I'd never liked to share my toys. Maybe it was because I was used to being an only child, maybe it was simply due to a bratty attitude, but not much has changed since then. Stiles wasn't a toy per say, but he was still _mine_. I wouldn't rest until the alpha was found and gutted. Am I being petty? Without a doubt. Was I jumping the gun? Probably, but this is _Stiles_ we're talking about. Speaking of…

"We could look at criminal records," he suggested; pulling the tassel of his sweatshirt to the corner of his mouth. "Getting into my dad's records won't be easy but uh, well I've done it before so-" The chiming of his laptop interrupted; making me jump at its sudden noise with a squeak. "Sorry," Stiles apologized while closing the window that had just popped up.

"Did- do you want to answer that?" I questioned when the Skype call popped up once more.

Stiles momentarily chewed on his sweatshirt before replying, "I probably should." He then accepted the call with one strike of the keyboard; making a very, very cute boy show up on screen.

He looked around our age with straight brown hair, tanned complexion, and a puppy-dog stare that could give Scott a run for his money. My eyes searched for his username only to stop short at the word _PhantomJ96. _

"Hey man," Stiles greeted. "What's up?"

When PhantomJ96 opened his mouth to respond a pale hand pushed him out of frame. My heart nearly stopped at the sight of what could only be described as the most attractive man I'd ever seen. His hair was the deepest black I'd ever seen; contrasting beautifully against his fair skin. The man's eyes were a shocking blue that reminded me of the frozen waters I'd seen two summers ago when Nona took the family up to Alaska for her friend Liana's annual vampire hunt. His t-shirt, jeans, and leather jacket were a matching shade of coal. They showed off his broad shoulders and strong (though not stocky) frame with ease. This man, whoever he was, looked to be the embodiment of _sexy_.

"Don't say anything," he hissed to PhantomJ95 before fixing their computer screen with an accusatory glare. "Who is that?"

"It's Z," Phantom replied after forcing himself back into frame; scowl marring his face. "You're the one who wanted-"

"Not him," the man interrupted with an irate roll of his eyes. "_Her_."

My body tensed in fear; wondering how he'd known Stiles wasn't alone. I wasn't close enough to Stiles' laptop to be picked up by its webcam; I'd made sure of that when he answered the call.

"Her?" Stiles echoed; his Lying Voice an octave higher than normal. "There- there is no _her_-"

"Those legs in the corner are definitely not yours, Dweeb," the man interrupted with a sneer. He then frowned thoughtfully and continued, "But compliments to their owner. She must be-"

Phantom elbowed his friend to the side; his expression gleeful and wide-eyed. "Dude, are you with your girlfriend or something?"

"No!" Stiles yelped with reddening cheeks. "No, no, no, no, no. Definitely not! Maureen and I are just-"

"_Maureen and you_?" Phantom cut in with a shit-eating smile.

"What-what do you mean, 'definitely not'?" I frown; leaning forward this way I was both in shot and closer to Stiles. He'd already announced my presence. There was no use in lying now.

The blue-eyed man wolf whistled as Phantom '_oooh_'ed through his laughter. Stiles glanced between my sour expression and his computer screen several times before running a hand down his face with a long sigh.

"You needed something?" Stiles cringed; fixing Phantom with a defeated stare.

"Yeah," Phantom nodded eagerly in response, "and it's a good thing Maureen's with you."

"Me?" I question with surprise as my cheeks warm. He really _is _cute… "What-what do you need me for?"

Phantom set me with a charming grin that turned my insides to mush. "Z told me that you're good with computers- that you tracked your friend down using his cell phone's GPS."

I fixed Stiles a sideways glance as my brow rose in silent questioning. Stiles was talking about me? Not only that, but complimenting me to a person I _don't even know_? He kept his gaze locked to the computer screen, but I still caught his tell-tale signs of embarrassment. The blotches on his cheeks turned a darker shade of pink; he licked his lips and gulped mutely.

"Yes," I replied after deciding I'd taken long enough to respond. Looking back to the monitor I say, "I'm… decent."

The blue-eyed man snorted disbelievingly at my brush off. "We don't need decent," he sneered. "Modesty isn't a cute trait."

"Shut up, Damon," PhantomJ96 scowled up at his friend before shooting me an apologetic grin. "Ignore him."

I bit the inside of my cheek and looked to Stiles once more. This time he met my gaze. "How-how do you know these people?" I whispered in apprehension; clutching my book tightly just to keep my hands from shaking.

"Your boyfriend and Jeremy play video games together," Damon announced irritably. At my suspicious glance he smirked, "Your voice carries."

"Okay," Stiles interjected with a sour frown, "who the hell is this guy?"

Phantom, or Jeremy I suppose, heaved a long sigh before replying, "My sister's boyfriend." He shot Damon an irate glare before saying, "Look Z, I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important-"

"Forget asking," Damon interrupted; leaning close to the screen until Stiles and I had a clear view of his icy gaze. "You're going to help us," he demanded; his pupils dilating as he did so.

"Okay," I agreed without a moment's thought. "What do you need me to do?"

"Dude," Jeremy hissed while slapping his companion lightly on the shoulder. "Clare's gonna be pissed."

Damon simply brushed Stiles' gaming friend off with a lax hand. "We need you to track down an e-mail address."

"I don't know how," I replied; overwhelmed with inexplicable guilt.

"You triangulated Scott's coordinates in less than a minute," Stiles proclaimed while meeting my eye. "You can do this."

"No," I argued with a shake of my head. "I- it's different." I momentarily frowned before getting to my feet with an excited gasp. "I'll be right back," I called over my shoulder while racing into the kitchen with an urgency that felt oddly… foreign. "Artie!" I exclaimed; making my aunt yelp and drop her cookie tin with a loud _clang_!

"Jesus!" she said; rounding on me with wide eyes. "What-?"

"I need you to trace an e-mail address," I interrupted quickly. When Artie opened her mouth to protest I cut in, "You owe me, remember? I told you everything I know about the animal attacks."

It was a lie, but she didn't know that and I wasn't going to let her in on the reality of werewolves any time soon. As far as my aunt was concerned, her curiosity had been sated and _I_ was the one to do it. While I had initially planned to save her debt for translating Allison's family history, this felt much more important.

"Tracing an e-mail, huh?" she relented with a light sigh. "Piece of cake."

When I returned to Stiles with my aunt by my side, Damon skeptically questioned, "Who're you?"

"Artemis Guild," she grinned in response; using her infamous hacker tag on reflex. "Ex-convict, hacking extraordinaire, the second coming of Jesus and, most importantly, Reeny's favorite aunt." I couldn't help but roll my eyes at the smirk she sent my way. Without taking a breath Artie continued, "I hear you need an e-mail traced."

Jeremy gaped wide-eyed at the screen. "_You_'re Artemis Guild?" he breathed.

Aunt Artie swelled with pride. "You a fan?"

"A fan?" he echoed with an incredulous laugh. "Hell yeah I'm a fan! You're _badass_!"

My aunt brushed imaginary dust off of her shoulders whilst releasing an arrogant chortle. "I know."

"Can we cut this little heart-to-heart short?" Damon interjected with a scowl. "You're wasting daylight."

"I don't like to be rushed," Artie snipped in response. "And I don't have to do this."

"Aunt Art-"

"_But_," she interrupted my plea with a mischievous smile, "there's a way you can make it up to me." At Damon's raised brow she demanded, "Strip for me, Blue-eyes!"

Artie had always been one for dramatic flare. She enjoyed getting a rise out of people; making their faces flush and eyes widen. I should know, she'd done it to me more times than I could count. My aunt liked to see people squirm just because she could. It never mattered how outrageous her requests seemed, someone was always lining up to do her bidding. All Artie had to do was say the word, and the world tripped over itself to please her. The only time she hadn't gotten her way was when she'd been convicted and sentenced which, while serious, could have been _much_ worse. However despite all of that, my jaw couldn't help but drop when Damon fixed my aunt with a raunchy smile and threw his jacket away without care.

"Oh my god," I panicked; my eyes growing wide as they took in the happy-trail Damon was slowly but surely exposing. "He's stripping. He's actually stripping."

"Dude!" Jeremy cried while slapping his hands over his eyes. "Seriously?"

"What can I say?" Damon smirked while flinging his t-shirt up into the air. "She speaks my language."

I felt like I was on the verge of hyperventilating. "Oh my god," I repeated over my aunt's delighted cackles.

"Stop looking!" Stiles hissed while placing his hands in front of my eyes.

I took a hold of his forearm and pushed it down with a second thought. "Being as I'm _definitely not_ your girlfriend, I can look at whatever I'd like." My tone was prim and snipped as I met Stiles stare with a frigid one of my own. He rolled his eyes, clearly exasperated, but before he could retort my aunt interrupted.

"Save the lover's quarrel for later, I'm trying to enjoy the show!"

XxX

Hours had passed since Stiles left. We hadn't gotten much work done after Artie tracked down the e-mail address Stiles' gamer friend had been looking for. In fact, we hadn't gotten _any_ work done. Overall the day had been a failure. Worse than that, it had left my and Stiles' friendship in a… delicate condition.

I was bitter about what he'd said. "Definitely not," as if the notion of us being together was repulsing. A simple denial would have sufficed. Still, I shouldn't have said anything. I shouldn't have thrown the words back in his face. It was thing to feel bitter, but for Stiles to know-?

I cringed at the thought.

He had to know I liked him. He _had_ to. I was so painfully obvious it was disgusting. Allison found out the first week I had met her. Becca knew even before _I _did. Scott sent me knowing glances whenever Stiles and I came into contact. _Everyone knew_. My crush on Stiles was the worst kept secret of Beacon Hills, and yet I'd always held out with the hopes he didn't know.

But tonight those hopes had been dashed, and all because of my inability to keep hold of my emotions. Ugh!

And so here I sit, wide awake and throwing myself a pity party when I should be sleeping, or reading up on werewolves, or doppelgangers, or trying to find Derek freaking Hale who went missing after being impaled by the alpha who has _still _yet to be identified, or-

At first I thought the ringing echoing around my bedroom was the sign of an oncoming panic attack, but when buzzing quickly followed I sighed at the realization it was just my cell phone.

When my eyes scanned its screen I bit the inside of my cheek in apprehension. It was Stiles, and as uncomfortable as I felt about today I couldn't bring myself to hit _decline_. "Hello?"

"You picked up!"

My cringed at his boisterous tone as my index finger lowered my volume on instinct. "What's wrong, Stiles?"

"Nothing's wrong," he replied in a cheery tone. "Ac-actually no," he hiccupped as his voice turned somber. "There _is_ something wrong."

"Stiles-"

"Shut up, Scott! I'm on the phone!"

I released a long sigh and tugged at the ends of my hair out of habit. "You're drunk." It wasn't a question. The slur of his 'sh's and 'S's were indication enough, not to mention his ridiculous volume.

"As a skunk," he giggled in response.

I smiled despite myself. "You should get to bed," I advised; falling back onto my bed with a light roll of my eyes. "We have school in the morning."

"Sh-sc-school," he fumbled. "School," Stiles then repeated; as if to assure himself he could say it. "I called you at the school."

"Yes," I replied; trying to placate him.

"You picked up then, too."

"Stiles," I said, only for him to interrupt.

"I'm sorry about to-today," he apologized profusely, honest-to-god sorrow in his tone. Apparently he was a manic drunk. "You'd be a _awe_-some gill… girl… girlfriend!" My cheeks warmed at the compliment. "You're blushing!" Stiles proclaimed; sounding victorious. "I can hear it! You're all r-r-red!"

"S-sleep it off, Stiles," I ordered in a wavering tone.

"You're so, so, _so_ pretty when you're red," he replied lightly. "I-" Static filled the line along with grunts of struggle.

"Hey Maureen," greeted a terse new voice, one I immediately recognized.

"Scott," I replied; my voice pitched with embarrassment.

"Had to cut him off before he said something he'd regret," the werewolf said. "I probably shouldn't have let him drunk dial you in the first place."

"P-probably," I stuttered. For a moment, we were both silent. "I-I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah," Scott agreed. "Night Maureen. Sorry."

"Goodnight Reeny!" Stiles crowed loudly in the background; making both me and Scott laugh.

"It's okay," I smiled. "Goodnight."


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary: **Maureen was no one's sister and the closest thing she had to a best friend was her mom. She wouldn't have gotten involved in Beacon Hills' supernatural drama if it wasn't for her knack to notice the things most overlook. It also didn't hurt this mystery was what some could call a "special interest". After all, whenever Stiles Stilinski was involved Maureen couldn't help but pry.

**Rating: **T for Teen

**Pairing: **Stiles/OC (or Miles, as it'll come to be known.)

**Author's Note: **It's a long one. Check out my social media account and review and all of that good stuff.

**Chapter Seventeen**

The morning after Stiles' drunk dial, I found myself entering English class with a coffee and flawlessly written critical lens essay in hand. A chocolate chip muffin was stowed away in my purse, the kind I knew Stiles liked, as well as two cookies for Scott. Allison and Lydia had dropped by The Knothole together before school that day or else they would have received similar treatment. After seeing the way my friends seemed to light up at my small offerings in the past, I figured in light of all the stress they've been under making my "special deliveries" a regular thing was the least I could do. (I knew the guilt I felt over not being with them that night at the school was irrational, but I felt it anyway. Not to mention the inevitable end of Scott and Allison's relationship had come; leaving both parties heartbroken and reclusive).

Overall my list of Things to Worry About seemed to grow longer with each passing day. Derek was still missing (neither Scott nor Stiles were keen on looking for him), Principal Thorne had decided it'd be in the school's best interest to transfer all of our paper files over to digital, my doppelganger research had come to a sharp halt what with Nona's condition growing progressively worse (Aunt Shirley was considering pushing her usual Thanksgiving flight to this weekend because of it), Mom and Artie bickered more than they communicated, and Blaine was constantly offering me a shoulder to cry on because, apparently, I looked just as frazzled as I felt. My family troubles had taken priority over the supernatural, meaning Stiles and I never got the chance to look back into the alpha and its motive- which only seemed to add on to my irrational feelings of guilt.

As the days went on I attempted to distract myself with school work. It succeeded for the most part. This year's quarterly standardized testing had really snuck up on me. November was just around the bend now, and while I looked forward to the holidays Lydia was driving me up the wall with all of her Halloween talk. She'd found the perfect venue for her party, something that was "just scary enough without feeling _Nightmare on Elm Street_". I didn't really understand why she couldn't just host the party at her house, but I found myself agreeing to help her set up regardless- something I talked Stiles into doing as well. (Convincing him to give a helping hand wasn't hard at all, actually. I tried not to think about his Lydia-based ulterior motives, instead choosing to focus on the quality time I would get to spend with him. It was an uphill battle to say the least.)

"You have forty-five minutes to complete the test," Mr. Harris droned; snapping me from my reflections. "You can earn twenty percent of you grade right now just by writing your name on the test booklet." I did as indicated before refocusing my attention on the underwhelmed Science teacher. "As it happens every year, one of you will inevitably fail to put your name on the cover and I'll yet again be left questioning my decision to ever become a teacher."

I rolled my eyes at his monologue as my lip curled in distaste. At the sound of snickers I turned expectantly to my left, surprised to find Stiles grinning humorously at me. Unsure of what to do I moved my pencil in a lax wave and blushed under his gaze. How long had be been looking at me?

"Let's get this disappointment over with," Mr. Harris proclaimed; demanding my attention once more. "You may begin."

I flipped open my booklet and immediately got to work. Four pages in I jumped with fright when Scott bound to his feet, completely unwarranted and with a loud scuffle, before sprinting from the choir room like there were Hell Hounds on his tail. What in the-?

"Mr. McCall!" Harris called irritably at said teen's back. I was completely unsurprised when Stiles ran out a moment later. "Mr. Stilinski!" our teacher raved.

I worried my bottom lip and looked from Mr. Harris to the opened door and back again. Why had Scott run out? Did he sense something? Was the alpha nearby? Curiosity swelled beneath my breastbone to the point where I felt as if I couldn't breathe. I needed to know what was happening, but-

Oh screw it.

"_Ms. Black!_"

I swept up my, Stiles', and Scott's bags and followed them into the hall; ignoring our Chemistry teacher's bellows despite myself. My eyes scanned the vacant hall critically, and upon seeing shadows beneath the boys' locker room's door I walked in that direction... only for Stiles to jump out into the hall just as I was about to take a step in.

His chin collided painfully against my forehead, but before I even had the chance to wince Stiles was ripping Scott's backpack from my hands without remorse. "His inhaler!" he exclaimed while diving into the locker room once more. I took him leaving the door open as an invitation and let myself in.

I stopped short at the sight of Scott. He was hunched over, wheezing, shirtless, and standing beneath a running showerhead. As Stiles rummaged through the bag he'd just snatched my eyes took in Scott's familiar symptoms. "He's having a-"

"I know," Stiles interrupted; pulling away from his best friend's backpack with an inhaler in hand. I caught onto Stiles' train of thought immediately and let his plan run its course.

Scott puffed a few times before his breathing finally slowed, and as his vitals regulated I turned off the shower's tap with a relieved sigh. "Was-was I having an asthma attack?" the werewolf questioned; sounding completely stunned.

"No," Stiles answered with a tick of his shoulder. "You were having a panic attack, but thinking you were having an asthma attack took away your panic attack." At Scott's confused look Stiles gave a wry smile before sing-songing, "Irony."

I grabbed a nearby towel (which appeared to be clean) and handed it to Scott with downcast eyes. I didn't want to make him feel like I was gawking or judging him, especially not if this was his first panic attack.

"How did-" Scott had to clear his throat before he could continue. "How did you know that?"

Stiles shuffled uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "I used to have them after my mom died."

I cleared my throat pointedly; not wanting silence to lapse after Stiles' confession. As each boy looked to me in surprise, I began to rummage through my purse in search of the brown paper bag Mom had stuffed in there this morning. "Uhm," I fumbled after locating said bag and pulling it out. "You should- well, here." I offered Scott a fresh Black-and-White cookie with a wavering smile. "For your blood sugar," I explained. "So you don't get the shakes."

He took it with a thankful grin after he and Stiles shared an unreadable look. Taking a moment to nibble on his treat Scott said, "I don't know what happened. I-I looked at her and it was like someone hit me in the ribs with a hammer."

"It's call heartbreak," Stiles replied in a snarky tone. "About two billion songs written about it-_hey!_ What was that for?"

I pulled back my hand and set him with a disapproving glare. "Don't be so insensitive," I scolded.

"I can't stop thinking about her," Scott whined helplessly as he began to towel dry his hair, not so much as batting an eye and my and Stiles' bickering.

"Well think about this," Stiles said in a voice clipped with irritation. "Her dad's a werewolf hunter and you're a werewolf. It was bound to become a problem eventual-_ow_! Maureen, that hurt!"

I ignored Stiles' complaints pointedly. "You'll be alright, Scott," I assured him; faltering slightly when he gave his head an arguing shake.

"No," he denied, "that's not it. It was- it was like I could feel everyone else in the room. Everyone's emotions-"

"It's the full moon," Stiles interrupted while making a show of rubbing the arm I'd been swatting. "It has to be. We'll lock you up in your room like we planned, that way the alpha can't get to you either."

Scott rose to his feet with a grim expression on his face. "I think we'll have to do more than lock me up in my room."

"Why?" I asked, half-sure of his answer.

The corners of Scott's lips twisted into a frown. "Because if I get out tonight I… I think I might kill someone."

With a fearful gulp I looked to Stiles out of the corner of my eyes. My hands began to tremble but I clenched them into stillness. Scott glanced between me and Stiles a few times before slipping back into his shirt and ducking out of the locker room, mumbling something about fresh air. It was clear his confession had spooked him just as much as it did me, which only added to my anxiety. Scott was unsure of himself, jumpy, and having panic attacks. It was a dangerous mix for any human let alone _werewolf_.

"You- you'll be there tonight, right?" Stiles questioned. "You'll help me with him?"

I nodded without pausing to think, surprised at myself when I agree out of concern for Scott instead of my usual Stiles centric thoughts. "Of course," I assured him quietly. After a moment of hesitation I laid a hand of his shoulder with a wavering smile. "It'll be okay," I said. "I- I'll help you and we'll all get through this, yeah? Together."

"Together," Stiles echoed with a sigh of relief. "Thanks Maureen."

XxX

"… and one Caramel macchiato with extra caramel, two pumps of espresso, and whip cream with chocolate syrup drizzled on top. I'd also like a green tea frappicino with- actually can I cancel that macchiato in exchange for an iced coffee? In fact, cancel everything. I'd like six iced coffees. Oh and, while you're at it, can I get one of those chocolate chip muffins? Not the stale kind. Y'know, fresh."

I scrambled behind the counter with a dark expression; loading up to-go cups only to dump them when the bratty business man changed his mind. After filling his revised order and packing them away in our tower-boxes I turned to the customer with a forced smile. By this point in exchange I was breathless. Nina had left work early to pick up her son, Aaron, from daycare and Blaine was running late. Our newest barista Marie had been the one to start this man's order, but his drinks grew progressively complicated as time went on until eventually I took over as she ducked out of the room with tears in her eyes.

Stiles had showed up just as Marie headed into the kitchen, and upon seeing how swamped I was he took a stool on the farthest corner of The Knothole's "bar" area. The sun wouldn't set for another hour at least. Stiles was early and, while I felt bad for making him wait, I couldn't leave until Blaine arrived. We had to have at least one half-competent worker in at all times and unfortunately Marie was proving to be the exact opposite. (I wouldn't report it to my mother with the hopes it was just First Day jitters. I knew from experience the job could be daunting at the best of times, and I wanted her to succeed.)

"Here you are," I said while placing the man's order on our countertop. Turning to the cash register I tell him, "You'll have to pay for the drinks I dumped, but I'll give you a discount of-"

"I'm not going to pay you for a drink you poured down the drain."

I blinked owlishly at the ferocity in his tone. With trembling hands I explained, "I-I'm sorry sir, but you changed your order after the drinks were already brewed. It's policy that-"

"You're trying to rob me," the man snarled. "I give you good business and you're trying to nickel-and-dime me."

"Sir," I began with forced politeness, "it's clearly written here on the board that-"

"That's it!" he shouted; making me jump at his sudden rise in volume. "I'll take my business elsewhere! I'll never buy another drink here again! I'll let all of my co-workers know how cheap you are! The place will go under!"

I could only watch as he stormed from my mother's café; ranting and raving the entire way. When the door closed behind him I released a long, frustrated groan; propping my elbow and forehead against the counter as I did so.

"You okay?"

I cringed at Stiles' voice and straightened up once more. I'd nearly forgotten he was here. "Fine," I replied airily while dumping all six of the iced drinks I just poured. "It-it happens from time to time."

After tossing the used cups into our recycling bin I turned back to the register with a frown. While reaching into my apron for what measly tips I'd received Stiles questioned, "What are you doing?"

Pulling out my small wad of cash I began typing in the failed order. "Someone has to pay for those drinks," I answered quietly; thumbing through my singles and fives with a look of concentration.

"But it's your mom's shop," Stiles replied; misunderstanding in his tone.

"Exactly."

Before he could question me further Blaine clambered out of the kitchen sporting an apologetic grin. "Would someone like to tell me why I just found New Girl crying into the donuts?" he questioned while lunging for his hanging apron.

"You're late," I chastised instead while shutting the register with a faint _ting_! "Forty-seven minutes late."

Blaine set me with a wolfish grin. "Miss me?" he questioned.

"No," I sighed while dodging his outstretched hands. "But I've got things to do and you're making me la-"

"Who's this?" Blaine interrupted whilst eyeing Stiles distrustfully.

As I packed away my smock, both boys squared their shoulders and engaged in what appeared to be a staring contest. I rolled my eyes while slipping into my coat; thoroughly unamused by their juvenile behavior.

"C'mon," I prompted while nudging Stiles toward the door. "Let's get going."

"Wait a second," he said while brushing off my hand. "Who're you?"

"Blaine," my coworker answered with a deepening scowl. "Who're _you_?"

"Stiles."

I glanced between them through narrowed eyes as my irritation spiked. "Now that we've all been introduced," I began snootily, "we really should get going. Stiles?"

"Yeah," the sheriff's son nodded without breaking eye contact with Blaine. "Let's go."

I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my coat and gave a violent shiver as we crossed the parking lot in search of Stiles' Jeep. "So," I began uncertainly while I settled into he passenger's seat, "how-how was lacrosse practice today?"

Apparently, horrible. Scott was wildly aggressive today; tackling people left and right until, eventually, giving Danny a bloody nose. It wasn't only that, though. I could tell Scott had done something else- something Stiles wasn't telling me. The way he gripped his steering wheel until his knuckles turned white was more than just a product of apprehension. Stiles blinked rapidly every few moments, almost as if he were holding back tears. I wanted to ask him what was wrong, what he was hiding from me, but I stopped myself from doing so. Just because I wanted to know every detail about Stiles didn't mean I should. Our budding friendship was starting to teach me that there were boundaries I shouldn't cross and secrets I didn't want to uncover.

When we arrived at the McCall's I was surprised to find Stiles had his own set of house keys. I felt uncomfortable just letting myself in but I followed Stiles into the foyer regardless.

"Scott?"

I nearly died of mortification when Ms. McCall called out for her son only to come face to face with me and Stiles. She was dressed in brightly colored scrubs, and the keys in her hands told me she was getting ready for an overnight shift at the hospital.

"Stiles," said boy corrected with a sheepish grin. I simply waved.

Melissa eyed the chain in Stiles hand. "Key," she observed; clearly unaware that Stiles had such easy access to her home.

"Yeah," my crush nodded. "I had one made."

"That doesn't surprise me," Melissa said. "Scares me, but doesn't surprise me." Stiles dropped his gym bag onto the hard wood floors, and I cringed at the loud noise it made. "What is that?" Ms. McCall demanded; pointed to the offending object with a skeptical frown.

"Uh… school project," Stiles lied with a nod of his head.

Melissa nodded unconvincingly before fixing me with her gaze. "Maureen?" she prompted.

"It's for an English project, Ms. McCall." My tone was honest and innocent, but I could tell she didn't believe me.

"Scott's alright, isn't he?" she sighed. "He's okay?"

"Totally," Stiles assured her with a dismissive scoff.

Melissa's eyes turned downcast as she confessed, "He just doesn't talk to me. Not much, anymore. Not like he used to."

"The breakup hit him hard, Ms. McCall," I replied; telling a half-truth.

"Yeah," she agreed. "Yeah, I get it." Scott's mom fixed us with a brilliant smile, the one she'd passed on to her son. "Okay well, be careful tonight," she then advised while rummaging through her oversized purse.

"You too."

"It's a full moon," Melissa continued; making Stiles choke on his own spit.

"What?" he demanded. I elbowed him inconspicuously, trying to reign in his suspicious behavior, but he flailed regardless.

"There's a full moon tonight," Melissa repeated, louder this time. "You should see how the ER gets. Brings out all of the nut jobs."

"Oh," Stiles sighed. "Right."

"Y'know," Ms. McCall began with a wag of her finger, "it's actually where they came up with the word_ lunatic_." Stiles looked about ready to faint. "Tell your mother I'm looking forward to Friday night, Maureen."

"Will do," I grinned; genuinely pleased by the mention of their plans. My mom and Melissa had become fast friends after meeting at last month's Parent/Teacher conferences. "Have a nice night."

Once the McCalls' front door closed behind her, Stiles turned to me with a panicked expression. "Do you think she knows?"

"No," I answered. "She just- she's worried about Scott." I tugged at the ends of my hair before chuckling, "Can't say I really blame her. Where is he, anyway? The sun's about to set."

Stiles rubbed the back of his neck with a grimace on his face. "I don't know," he said. "I-I guess we'll just have to wait."

I followed him up the McCall home's stairs with a frown, then down a hallway and into what I assumed to be Scott's room. I was just about to suggest calling our missing werewolf friend when Stiles flicked the bedroom lights on; revealing Scott who had previously been sitting in the dark.

I jumped and squawked in fright, ducking behind Stiles as I flailed clumsily on my feet. "Jesus!" I yelped over Stiles' frantic "oh my god!" Between the two of us it would be a miracle if everyone made it out of this room alive.

"Scott," his best friend sighed in greeting. "Dude, oh my god. You scared the hell out of me."

My brow furrowed when Scott didn't immediately respond. Instead he continued staring at us, his expression impassive but inherently dark, from his seat at a desk chair. "Sorry," he finally grumbled.

"Y-your mom said you weren't home yet," I stuttered, still clutching at my fluttering heart.

"I came in through the window," was Scott's monotonous reply.

"Okay," Stiles agreed lightly; obviously not sure how to take his response. Dropping the duffle bag onto the floor Stiles said, "Let's get you set up. Wait until you see what I bought."

As my crush rummaged through his supplies, I continued to eye Scott with distrust. There was something off about him, something dangerous. My instincts were screaming at me to run and hide- to get away from Scott as soon as possible.

"I'm fine," he said, sounding completely the opposite. "I'm just gonna lock the door and go to bed."

"You sure about that?" Stiles questioned as he fidgeted relentlessly. "'Cause you got this kind of… serial killer look going on in your eyes, and I'm hoping it's the full moon taking effect because it's really starting to freak me out."

I took a step closer to Stiles and into his peripheral vision, silently assuring him that I was here. That he wasn't in this alone.

"I'm fine," Scott repeated. This time his voice held a dangerous edge. "You should go now. The both of you." My heart leapt into my throat when Stiles began to get to his feet.

"Alright," he said. "I'll leave-"

"Wait," I interrupted. "Let's just- let's just take a look in the bag, okay? Maybe you'll use it, maybe you won't."

"Yeah," Stiles agreed (too) easily. From the pleased look he shot me I'd unknowingly played into one of his plans. Turning to Scott he questioned, "Sound good?"

When Scott rose to his feet my muscles seized with terror. With each step he took closer to Stiles my hands balled tighter and tighter into fists. My heart was loud in my ears, thrumming steadily and with quickening pace. I tried desperately to get a hold of myself but it was no use. My only hope was that Scott's bloodlust hadn't yet kicked in.

I felt marginally safer when Scott crouched beside his best friend, but as he lifted a set of chains with a murderous expression on his face I remembered that wolves typically go for their prey's ankles first.

"You think I'm going to let you put these on?" Scott questioned gravely as Stiles shuffled in place. "Chain me up like I'm a dog?"

"Actually no," Stiles replied, his tone sounding almost defeated. My eyes zeroed in on the handcuffs he was inconspicuously slipping out of his back pocket before widening when he ambushed Scott with them. Stiles chained him to the nearby radiator in seconds, and I couldn't help but swoon over how easily he seemed to wield cuffs. Now was _so_ not the time for hormones.

Stiles got to his feet and scrambled a few steps back; taking me by the upper arms as he did so. "What the hell are you doing?" Scott roared while struggling against his bindings.

"Protecting you from yourself," Stiles answered his voice strong. "And giving you some payback." Both Scott and I turned to him questioningly before he elaborated, "For making out with Lydia."

My stomach dropped at his words. It made sense now; his brooding, the way his jaw trembled. Scott had kissed Lydia; the Stiles had spent the past decade mooning over. It was no wonder he was so upset. If Allison ever kissed Stiles I wouldn't react any better.

"I-I'll be right back," Stiles stuttered while making his way out into the hall. "Yell if anything happens."

I nodded mutely at the request and watched him go; taking the stairs two at a time in his haste to get away. For a moment the room was quiet. Scott was the one to break it.

"I can smell it, you know?" he questioned tauntingly. "Your sadness. Your," he inhaled deeply, "jealousy."

I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose. "It-it'll be alright, Scott," I assured him gently while forcing myself to take a seat on his bed. "Just a few hours until sunrise and then-"

"I can smell Stiles' emotions too. He's devastated." My breath caught when he set me with a dark smirk. "Do you think he'd be this heartbroken if I'd kissed _you_?" With a cruel snort he answered, "I don't."

I bit my lip to keep it from trembling.

"It's pathetic," Scott sneered. "You trail after him like some puppy. Bringing us coffee every morning, talking 'strategy', getting quiet whenever he mentions Lydia. Could you be any more obvious, Maureen?" He chuckled then, as if he thought the way my eyes teared was funny. He probably did. "It'll never be you. You're not Lydia Martin- not even close. Stiles will never like you back. You might as well give up now."

"I brought you some-" Stiles reentered the room with a water bottle and dog dish in hand, only to stop short when he noticed something was up. I turned my eyes downcast while getting to my feet. Shuffling quickly by him I excused myself to the bathroom; barely catching his quiet question of, "What did you say to her?"

"The truth!" Scott bellowed in response, his chain rattling wildly against the radiator. "Now let me out! Stiles, _let me out_! Dammit I'm going to kill you!"

"You kissed Lydia, Scott!" Stiles roared in response; making me wince in surprise. I pressed my ear to the bathroom door to listen in. "_Lydia_! That's my- the one girl I-" My face crumpled at the sound of his fumbles. "Y'know, for the past three hours I've been telling myself it's just the full moon. He doesn't know what he's doing. That tomorrow you'll be back to normal. He won't even remember what a complete dumb-ass he's been, a son of a bitch, a freaking unbelievable crap friend! But then- then you make Maureen cry. You kiss-"

"She kissed me," Scott interrupts. My eyes widened at the proclamation.

"W-what?" Stiles questioned; his tone faltering with sadness.

"I didn't kiss Lydia. _ She_ kissed _me_."

I exited the bathroom furiously; a deep scowl marring my features. He was hurting Stiles. He was purposely hurting Stiles- rubbing in his betrayal. All previous signs of my sadness were gone, leaving only anger in their wake. I wouldn't allow this. Scott, he could say anything he wanted to me, but not Stiles. Not him.

"That's not all, either," Scott continued. "She had her hands all over me. She was ready to do anything with me. _Anything-!_"

"Enough!" I barked while grabbing the dog bowl from Stiles' hand and throwing it a few inches from Scott's hand. I couldn't help but feel pleased when the water inside sloshed everywhere; soaking the sleeves of his shirt and knees of his pants.

Stiles looked to me with wide, glossy eyes as I took him by the hand and dragged him into the hallway; closing the door behind us with a loud _slam_! "Thanks," he whispered bashfully, wiping at his eyes.

"Together, right?" I questioned with a weak smile.

He returned it with a blinding grin. "Right."


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary: **Maureen was no one's sister and the closest thing she had to a best friend was her mom. She wouldn't have gotten involved in Beacon Hills' supernatural drama if it wasn't for her knack to notice the things most overlook. It also didn't hurt this mystery was what some could call a "special interest". After all, whenever Stiles Stilinski was involved Maureen couldn't help but pry.

**Rating: **T for Teen

**Pairing: **Stiles/OC (or Miles, as it'll come to be known.)

**Author's Note: **Okay, so this chapter is so short because my Halloween AU will be written in third person's POV due to the fact Maureen will become much too drunk for coherent thought. I hope you enjoy! As always be sure to check out my tumblr and leave a review once you're finished reading.

**Chapter Eighteen**

For the next thirty-seven minutes Stiles' face remained pinched with emotion. I sat across from him in the McCall's upstairs hallway, my breath steady despite how quickly my heart was beating. This was so hard for him- I could physically _see_ how pained Stiles felt. His expression grew more and more crumpled with each plea Scott made. Every few moments I would tap the top of Stiles' left shoe with my right, a silent reminder that I was right here, right with him, that he wasn't going through this alone. He tried to take comfort in it, I know he did, but it wasn't enough.

"Please guys," Scott begged from the other side of his bedroom door. "Please let me out. It's the full moon, I swear." Stiles aggressively rubbed at his short hair; his mouth twisted into a frustrated snarl. Pushing my right foot a few centimeters over I touched his Converse lightly. _I'm here._ "You know I wouldn't do this on purpose. It's the full moon. It's Allison dumping with me- I _know_ it's not just taking a break."

A brief pause ensued.

Then, "She broke up with me. I feel completely hopeless. Maureen, you get it. Please, you _get it_." I sucked in a deep breath and looked up to hall's ceiling; ignoring Stiles questioning gaze. This time it was his foot that nudged mine. "Please," Scott begged once more. "Let me out. Just let me out!"

"We can't," Stiles whispered helplessly; knowing Scott's heightened senses would pick up on the words.

Scott released a groan in response, and then another one- louder this time. My heart rate picked up double time as Scott's moaning became shouts, then yells, then screams. He was shifting. Stiles' face screwed up as tears began to collect in his eyes. Seeing his despair, his _pain_, it made me feel as if someone had knocked all of the air out of my lungs. Crossing the small space between us I wrapped an arm around Stiles' shoulder; surprised when he accepted and returned the hug with vigor. His entire frame trembled when Scott release pained screeches. The proximity had me flustered but I was too concerned to let it take over. Instead I simply tightened my grip, let him curl into the embrace and duck his head into my shoulder.

Scott's screams cut off with an abrupt and low growl. Then there was silence- an eerie silence that made my blood run cold. Something was wrong, and Stiles noticed it too. Pulling slightly away he turned his head to the door beside us. "Scott," he called, "are you okay?"

There was no answer. I stood on shaking legs, knowing Stiles was too afraid to peak into the room himself. With a deep breath I entered Scott's bedroom only to find it empty. Both panic and bile rose to the back of my throat. "He's gone!" I announced while rushing from the room; grabbing Stiles up off of the floor and dragging him toward the stairs. "The windows open- he broke through the handcuffs!"

Stiles released a string of curses as we clambered down the stairs and out of the door. Fishing out his keys Stiles panicked, "We have to find him before- before he…"

His voice cracked as he fumbled with the Jeep's keys, and I could see his breath puffing out in short clouds. Clasping my hands over his trembling ones I said, "It's alright-"

"No, it's not alright Maureen!" Stiles interrupted angrily; waving his hands with a flourish. "My best friend is a homicidal werewolf who just broke through freakin' handcuffs like they were _nothing_! Not to mention the fact his ex-girlfriend's family is probably out right now _hunting_ him, planning to_ kill_ him! Our research has gotten us _nowhere-!_"

"So we get somewhere!" I retorted while squaring my shoulders, meeting his glare with a hard look of my own. "We find Scott before the hunters do! We calm him down! I'll shove Wolfsbane down his throat if I have to! But what we're not doing Stiles, what we're not gonna do is _give up_! Now quit feeling sorry for yourself and get in the _damn car_!"

It was then that I ripped the Jeep's keys from his grasp; marching over to the driver's side door and closing it with a slam. He wasn't in the right frame of mind to be driving and I'd be damned if I let 'car accident' be tacked onto tonight's list of catastrophes. Stiles' second-hand vehicle rumbled to life as he hopped into the passenger's seat with a slack jawed expression. Pursing my lips I shifted into reverse; turning up the heat as I did so.

"You just… yelled at me." My eyes flickered to Stiles momentarily, and I tried to keep my swelling guilt at bay. He looked so taken aback, so incredibly surprised.

"You deserved it," I grumbled in response desperately trying to hold onto my previous anger. We lapsed into a tense moment of silence before he spoke once more.

"I-I didn't even know you _could_ yell."

The corners of my lips twitched upward at his confession, and soon I found myself laughing at the strangeness of it all. It wasn't long before Stiles joined in.

When our laughter finally quieted he said, "Listen I'm sorry-"

"It's alright," I interrupted sharply, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. I didn't like listening to Stiles' apologies. I felt like the act of forgiving him just proved he'd done something _wrong_ and, well… I had gone three years thinking the boy was perfect. The reality of Stiles made me feel off balance, like everything I knew to be true was a lie. He wasn't perfect, I was starting to see that, but I wasn't quite sure what to do about it. Clearing my throat I asked, "Want to try calling Scott? Maybe- maybe the sound of his phone will snap him out of-" I made a vague motion with my hands before turning right onto the main road.

Stiles did as asked, and for a while we drove in silence. Then, "Where are we going?"

I glanced to him out of the corner of my eye and answered, "I uh- I thought maybe Scott might go to Allison's house because, y'know, she's kind of the only thing he thinks about." Suddenly unsure with my train of thought I questioned, "Why? Do you think he'd go somewhere else? I could turn around or- or maybe pull over if you wanted to drive-"

"No, no," he denied fervently with a shake of his head. "That's a really good idea, actually."

I exhaled a shaky laugh before joking, "I have them from time to time."

"Is that- are those cop cars?" Stiles asked urgently as red and blue lights came into view. Ambulances, police cars, and a fire truck had the road blocked off a few yards ahead. My heart fell into my stomach at the sight. "Stop the car," Stiles demanded his tone surprisingly gruff.

"O-okay," I stuttered, pressing down on the brake only for him to leap out just as we slowed. I parked just as a gurney and body bag were wheeled out from the woods before following Stiles while gnawing my lip with worry.

"Dad?" he called, and it was only then did I realize just _why_ he'd been so worried. It was less than a week ago that his father was been hurt. Obviously the fear of history repeating itself weighed heavy on his mind. "Dad?" he asked once more, taking a deputy by the shoulder to examine his face. I could only watch as Stiles twisted and turned. "Has-has anyone seen my dad?" His voice faltered slightly when a deputy took hold of his shoulder. Was he trying to comfort Stiles or was he trying to keep him off of a crime scene? I couldn't tell. Stiles lunged for the gurney, stopping short when a burnt arm fell out from under the body bag. The horror in his eyes was as clear as tonight's full moon.

"Stiles!" My entire being relaxed at the sound of Sheriff Stilinski's familiar voice. Softly he questioned, "What are you doing here?"

Stiles wasted no time in wrapping his arms around his father's shoulders; clinging tightly to army-green coat as if it were a lifeline. The sheriff returned it with confusion, sending me a questioning glance as he did so. I looked away, embarrassed to be caught staring. My eyes instead focused on the charred arm dangling only a few feet away.

I took an odd comfort in the fact this body had been found burned and not mauled. Scott hadn't been the one to kill this victim. Right now he wouldn't have the patience or mental capacity to light someone on fire. Question was, had this person fallen prey to the alpha or was this something else entirely- a "normal" case?

"What are you two doing out here?" Mr. Stilinski asked while herding us away from the scene. Stiles looked to me with a panic in his eyes. He was a terrible liar and we both knew it.

"I needed to get some last minute Halloween shopping done," I fibbed with ease. "Stiles offered t-to take me since we're both setting up for uhm, for Lydia's party tomorrow night."

The sheriff's brow skyrocketed at the lie, but not because he didn't believe me. Fixing his fidgeting son with a stern look Mr. Stilinski questioned, "You two are going to a party tomorrow night?"

Stiles suddenly looked as if he wanted the world to swallow him home. The stare he fixed his father with was indecipherable. "Yes Dad," he grinded out through clenched teeth. I glanced between the two in confusion, knowing I was missing something but not being able to put a finger on what.

"The both of you?" Sheriff Stilinski elaborated slowly with a growing smile. "Together?" My cheeks suddenly warmed, and I was instantly reduced to a flushing stuttering mess.

"O-oh," I cut in, my voice choked. "No, not like- not like _together_. Not a date. If uhm- if that's what you're implying. No. Stiles is just being a good uh- good friend. I asked him to help set up and he agreed so…" I trailed off with a grimace. Both Stilinski's had identical looks of amusement on their faces. Obviously finding amusement at my floundering was hereditary. Was it only thirty minutes ago that I was chewing Stiles' head off? It amazed me that he could have me go from shouting to laughing to mortified within an hour. "Right," I nodded sharply, as if confirming _yes I_ _really just did that_. "It was nice to see you Sheriff. I'm gonna go wait in the car."

"Goodnight Maureen," Mr. Stilinski grinned. I simply ducked my head and waved; closing the passenger's side door shut after I climbed in.

When Stiles entered the Jeep a few minutes later I focused wholeheartedly on peeling away at my chipping nail polish. I would have to re-paint once I got home. Lydia would have my head if I didn't look perfect for the group costume she had planned for school, and I didn't want to go through the day listening to her whine about the way I looked.

"So," I began lightly, my voice forcibly nonchalant, "where to ne-?" My cell phone's shrill ring interrupted the question, and I extracted it from my pocket with a furrow of my brow. "It's Scott," I exclaimed excitedly; already answering the call and putting it on speaker. "Hello-?"

"Scott, where the hell are you?" Stiles cut in. His voice shook with concern and anger as he glared intently at my phone's glowing screen. "My dad just found two dead bodies that are a few days old." I looked to Stiles with interest, knowing I'd walked out before he'd extracted the details from his father. "They found them at the place I took you Sunday night. Scott I-I think it was those jerks who were harassing us. I think-"

"Maureen," Scott interrupted sharply, taking me by surprise. His tone was accusatory, frustrated, and hopeless all in one. "Did you know?"

"Know what?" I questioned in response. The phone shook in my hand, casting a wavering glow across the Jeep's roof.

"About the cure," he said. "About how the only way to break the curse is to kill the one who bit you."

My stomach churned with guilt. "It's one theory-"

"But you knew?" Scott snapped. I felt my eyes prickle with tears.

"I wanted to wait to suggest it," I confessed softly; scrutinizing the small chip in my screen this way I could avoid Stiles' prying eyes. "I wanted to wait until we found out who the alpha was, try and see if I could find something else-"

"That wasn't your decision to make!" I cringed at the volume of Scott's voice and swallowed the growing lump in my throat. "If you knew something you should have told me-!"

"Hey," Stiles said his voice sharp. "She's just trying to help, okay? Not that you freakin' deserve it. After tonight you're lucky she even picked up the phone, so quit acting like an ass!"

Scott sighed from over the line. "You're right. I'm sorry… for everything. What I said tonight Maureen, I shouldn't have-"

"It's okay," I cut in, my tone thick.

"No," Scott denied. "It's not. Stiles is right."

"How did you even find out about it?" I asked, trying desperately to change the topic of conversation. "The cure?"

"Derek."

Stiles flailed at Scott's answer; veering the Jeep into the wrong lane by accident. "D-Derek?" he yelped. "Derek's back? Derek's_ alive_?"

"Yeah," Scott answered, sounding just as shaken as Stiles. "I-I tried to attack Jackson and Allison tonight but he uhm, he stopped me."

"Thank god," I sighed unable to stop myself.

"_Thank god_?" Stiles echoed incredulously. "Thank god for _Derek Hale_?"

"Guys," Scott cut in just as I was abut to argue, "he said he'd help."

"Kill the alpha?" I elaborated with a concerned frown.

"If I help Derek find the alpha, Derek will help me kill him."

"We can't trust Derek," Stiles snapped in response.

I fixed him with a disapproving glare. "And why not?" I challenged.

"Because he's Derek freakin' Hale!" he bellowed in response. "And anyway, you said it yourself. We don't even know if it'll work."

"Either way," Scott said, "we're going to stop the alpha and we're going to need his help to do it."

"Maybe," Stiles began, his tone clouded with spite. "Maybe not."

Our phone call ended shortly thereafter. I was tired from my sleepless nights, long work hours, and the stress of tonight. Stiles noticed and volunteered to drive me home.

"So," I began after a particularly large yawn, "how did I do?" At his confused glance I elaborated, "On my first full moon?"

Stiles turned onto Main Street with a chuckle. "Much better than I did." I released a small laugh and nodded my head shallowly, feeling reassured. We were quiet for the rest of the drive, but once parked in my driveway Stiles faced me with obvious uncertainty. He tapped the steering wheel distractedly while he licked his lips in preparation. "Do you think it'd work?" he questioned. "The cure Derek was talking about?"

I rubbed at my forehead tiredly and released a long sigh. "I think the better question is whether or not Scott could kill someone. The alpha- he's done awful, horrible things. He's a murderer, he deserves to pay for what he's done but… but can Scott bring himself to kill?"

Stiles' expression turned pensive at the question. He pursed his lips while his forehead creased in distress.

"I'll keep looking," I told him gently trying desperately to comfort him in any way I could. My porch light flicked on and off, signaling my curfew had arrived. Mom must have waited up for me. "See you tomorrow, Stiles."

"Thanks Maureen," he said as I hopped out of the Jeep with a small grunt.

"F-for what?" I stuttered, flustered by the intensity of his gaze.

Stiles just grinned and gave his head a small shake; turning the key in its ignition until the Jeep rumbled back to life. I walked into my house feeling as if I were walking on cloud nine.


End file.
